


Monkey Juice

by spinsters_grave



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: (well it's modern for Lance at least), Canon-Typical Violence, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Modern AU, Time Travel AU, Woodstock (festival), fanon of Lance's family, hating-each-other-to-liking-each-other trope, they say the fuck word a couple times
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-03
Updated: 2017-11-03
Packaged: 2019-01-28 13:58:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 23,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12608168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spinsters_grave/pseuds/spinsters_grave
Summary: El Mono Rey can travel through time—at least until Lance lets go, and rockets back into 2017. He takes care of his monkey figurine, so when he finds someone that makes El Mono Rey tingle like crazy, Lance is understandably wary. The someone—Keith, from 198—turns up completely unexpected, and he and Lance are forced together because El Mono Rey and Wolf King (belonging to Keith) are never to be separated.Back in 2017, Lance doesn’t think he can live with his roommate—he doesn’t even know his name, for Pete’s sake. Lance can’t help but become hopelessly distracted by Keith and their time together to the point where he doesn’t think the roommate’s important. Hint: the roommate is important.





	1. Chapter 1

Lance’s mother gave him a small monkey statue when he was ten years old and said, “Mijo, this statue is the most important thing you will ever own, do you understand?”

 

Lance nodded. He knew that when adults crouched down like that, when they were trying to get you to look down at them, it was serious. 

 

She took his hand in her own and closed his fist over the monkey. “I am entrusting this to you because you are the man of our family. You must use it to take care of your siblings, okay? I need you to say ‘okay’.”

 

Lance nodded. He couldn’t exactly find his voice. His mom held tightly onto his fist. 

 

“Lance,  _ please,”  _ she whispered. “Your step-father will be home soon. Tell me you understand.”

 

Almost as if in a dream, he heard himself say, “Yes, mami. I understand.”

 

Her face crumpled into relief, and she straightened up and held Lance close to her chest. She was soft, like always, and Lance relaxed into her. 

 

Over the years, Lance would learn the monkey had all sorts of rules about it. Its eyes were made of some dark stone. Lance thought it might be obsidian—he’d heard some mirrors were made out of that, and if he looked hard enough and rubbed them a couple times, he could see his face staring back at him. 

 

The monkey didn’t like being left alone. If Lance left it at home by accident, he’d dip his hand into his pocket as his bus was rolling up to school and touch the warm, hard petrified wood of the monkey. He would jump slightly, then bring it out and rub his thumb over the chest of the monkey. It was warm. Lance preferred to think that was because of his own body heat. 

 

Lance was fourteen. His stepfather was away for a business meeting. His mom held tightly onto his elbow and told him, “Tell El Mono Rey a year. A recent one.”

 

Lance considered. He brought the monkey up to his mouth and muttered into where its ear would be:  _ “Two thousand four.” _

 

There was a moment, where Lance felt his stomach was going to fall out of his feet, and the world twisted slightly. His mom’s grip on his elbow tightened, and she staggered slightly. Lance tried to support her. 

 

“Good, mijo,” she said. They were still in their backyard, but something was different—the clouds, maybe, or the shade of the tree. Lance heard voices coming from their house: a child yelling, and his mother rushing away from the door. 

 

Lance’s eyes widened. “Is that—you? And me?”

 

“Yes, mijo,” his mom said. “What year did you say?”

 

Lance turned to to her, the color draining from his face. His fist clenched tightly around his monkey. “Two thousand four.”

 

She held him tightly. “Good, mijo,” she said distractedly. “That’s a good year. Now let go of El Mono Rey.”

 

Lance did as she said, and felt the twist in his stomach again. It felt like something he could get used to over time. He landed in his backyard again, but this time there weren’t any sounds from the house. The monkey landed on the ground next to Lance’s head, and he stared at it for a long, suspended moment. Then his mom staggered towards the house, dragging Lance along with her. He scooped up the monkey on his way.

 

She collapsed in her favorite armchair, and Lance collapsed onto the sofa. His stomach rolled and rioted. 

 

“You don’t usually travel that fast,” his mom said. “Give yourself at least twenty minutes before releasing El Mono Rey. Okay?”

 

Lance nodded. “Okay.”

 

They rested for a while. Lance’s stomach eventually settled, and he carefully placed his monkey on his dresser. He treated it with caution from then on. 

 

“Always respect El Mono Rey,” his mom told him. “If you don’t, he will not respect you. Okay?”

 

“Okay.”

 

“That is why I call him The Monkey King, even though he is not mine anymore,” his mom continued. “You always respect El Mono Rey. That is what my father told me, and his father told him. Understand?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Good.”

 

* * *

 

“You cannot go farther back than the beginning of humanity,” his mom said when Lance was fifteen. “Or into the future. You are not allowed to see what happens thanks to the consequences of your actions until you must live them for real.”

 

“You must go back minimum of one year,” she said when he was seventeen. “Otherwise it doesn’t work. The recent past is not allowed to be changed.”

 

Lance took her lessons to heart. She allowed him to travel on his own and more frequently as he got older. At first, Lance treated his monkey with trepidition. He didn’t know if he really  wanted El Mono Rey, and all the responsibility it gave to him. 

 

There were places Lance loved to go—early history, a cafe in Santa Barbara. The weekend before his first SAT, Lance travelled to 1134 and sat on the branch of a tree, letting his mind wander. He carefully studied his monkey. 

 

_ y=mx+b,  _ his brain yelled at him.  _ Learn your math! _

 

Lance stared into the obsidian monkey eyes. His own reflection studied him back, but it didn’t feel like him—more like El Mono Rey taking Lance’s face and using it to learn who Lance was. 

 

_ y=mx+b! y=mx+b! y=mx+b!  _ Lance turned back to his math and ran his finger over a formula, trying to get it to stick. The monkey was more interesting, and Lance found his attention pulled away time after time until he gave in. 

 

The statue was carved from some sort of pale wood. It might have been petrified, since it felt like real stone and was impossible to break. Maybe just incredibly old wood. Lance tilted it from side to side and admired the way the sun glinted off of it. 

 

Something moved in its eyes, and Lance almost dropped it. He clutched it to his chest and felt his heart thud. That would have been horrible. The tree didn’t exist back in his time; if he fell, he could break his neck on his living room floor.

 

Gingerly, Lance turned back to his math. His mouth moved over the formulas, trying to remember them for test day. 

 

None of it helped, and Lance eventually gave up. He climbed down the tree and released his grip on El Mono Rey to land in the downstairs living room. His mom bustled into the room and handed him a saltine cracker without Lance even having to ask. 

 

* * *

 

Somehow, Lance got into a college: University of California, Santa Barbara. He wasn’t the first of his family to go to college—his uncle was a doctor—but he was one of the few. His parents eventually wanted to send all of his siblings to college. 

 

He didn’t really use El Mono Rey his freshman year. He tried to respect him, but it was too easy to forget the statue if he didn’t use it. And it wasn’t that important, anyways, just something to relieve stress. Something easy, fun. 

 

Lance went home for the summer. He missed his mom and his siblings. El Mono Rey came along and found his home on Lance’s dresser. 

 

Lance noticed the monkey followed him around less. He didn’t know if that was good or bad. 

 

“Mijo,” his mom said, “you need to use El Mono Rey more. He doesn’t like being disused. You must regain his respect, understand?”

 

“Yes,” Lance said. They were preparing dinner. Lance’s knife hit the very edge of the cutting mat, and the end of the last green bean flew off. He bent to pick it up.

 

“I mean it,” his mom said. 

 

“I know you did,” Lance said. He wasn’t trying to be sarcastic. 

 

His mom tsked. “Mijo, this is serious,” she began. “This is the single greatest responsibility you will ever have in your life. Do not waste it.”

 

“Mom, I wasn’t going to  _ waste  _ it,” Lance said. “I’m just busy. With school.”

 

She sniffed. “El Mono Rey tells me you futz around on your computer all day and never spare time for him.”

 

Lance opened his mouth to argue, then decided against it. The monkey and his mom were right, technically. It wasn’t like he didn’t do other activities, just that he was just a  _ freshman,  _ and no one really expected freshmen to do much at school. Maybe he should have spent more time using El Mono Rey. 

 

Still, the monkey would keep him in favor. Lance went to 1567 that night, and stood in the forest where his backyard would be five hundred or so years in the future. The stars were ice cold and so far away. 

 

El Mono Rey stared at him. Lance imagined what he would say if he could speak—scolding, probably, for not using him earlier.  _ You have done wrong,  _ or something. Lance sat down heavily and ran his fingers over the monkey. 

 

“I’ll use you more often,” he said. He made his promise to the moon and stars and El Mono Rey himself. It was simple, like it should be. 

 

He felt rather than saw El Mono Rey’s approval. He was trying to be honest, too, so he was glad the monkey could tell. 

 

His mother knew somehow. She knew everything—Lance wondered, in a quiet place in his mind he didn’t quite dare to bring to light, if she and the monkey were one and the same. He wondered if one day, he and the monkey would be one and the same, too. She sent him a secret smile over dinner. His stepfather didn’t see, and neither did his other siblings. Lance smiled back.

 

* * *

 

“And don’t forget to eat healthy,” his mom said. “I’ll know.”

 

Lance groaned and silently wished his mom away. “I know, I know. I’ll be fine.”

 

His mom screwed her face up and gave Lance a Look. She couldn’t keep it for long, though. Her darling eldest was going off to college again. She couldn’t stay mad at him for long. 

 

They hugged for a long time. El Mono Rey dug into Lance’s hip, a subtle reminder of his promise.  _ Do not forget.  _

 

Lance wasn’t really friends with his roommate. They danced around each other and didn’t comment when they brought over their friends. The roommate was into some online game—World of Warcraft, or something. Lance couldn’t get into it himself.

 

El Mono Rey didn’t stay on Lance’s dresser. He followed Lance to class, and in response Lance would put him on the corner of his desk to get a proper college education. El Mono Rey didn’t object, though Lance felt like he was rolling his eyes at Lance’s physics professor. 

 

On the first weekend Lance had no homework, so he took a short hike to the center of the city. He ducked into an alleyway and pretended he knew where he was going. The monkey hummed in his pocket, but that could have been Lance’s imagination over reacting. 

 

Lance almost expected El Mono Rey to be grinning, showing wooden teeth. He drew him out of his pocket and brought his to his lips, holding a breath in his throat while he thought. 

 

“1887.”

 

The world twisted around Lance, and the sounds of the city changed. Instead of cars honking down the highways, horse hooves and jangling leads echoed all around Lance. He looked down at his clothes. They were almost the same—sometimes El Mono Rey decided that Lance needed clothes to fit the time period, especially if the products or designs to make his present clothes hadn’t even been created yet. 

 

There weren’t any pockets on Lance’s new pants. He grumbled and held El Mono Rey loosely at his side. Fine. If the monkey didn’t want to be in a safe pocket where he wouldn’t be dropped, fine. 

 

There was a little shop near Lance’s drop place. They sold bolts of cloth and sewing supplies, along with some pre-made hats. Lance was relieved to find a coin purse on him, though he would’ve found no issues with stealing a hat. It would be for his mom, he told the shop lady. She seemed somewhat confused at the term ‘mom.’ Lance internally cursed himself for using modern slang like that. 

 

The hat was pink and pretty. Lance’s mom would love it. 

 

He looked around as the shop lady counted his coins. There was a large picture window leading out into the street. Lance watched passers-by and imagined what time period they might have come from, if they had a monkey like himself. 

 

There was a man with an  _ atrocious  _ haircut and a smart red jacket. Lance watched him go by the window in a great hurry, then spotted a police officer a minute later in hot pursuit. Considering the haircut, the person might have been from the nineteen eighties. It looked like a mullet. Freaking  _ mullets. _

 

The lady wrapped Lance’s hat in a fancy box with rounded corners and set it on the counter between them with a, “Thank you for your business, sir. Have a wonderful day.”

 

“You as well, my dear,” Lance said. He picked up the box and gave the lady a roguish smile and a wink. She delicately blushed, and Lance walked out feeling like a Jane Austen love interest. 

 

He tried to think of how much time had gone by. His mom said most people stayed for twenty minutes to an hour in the past, and Lance wanted to make the most of 1887. There was a small cafe nearby. 

 

Lance sat at one of the outdoor sets and ordered a coffee. Someone had left a newsletter at his table, something about politics. Lance didn’t really remember the political scene of 1887. Wasn’t Roosevelt president, or something? Cleveland? Cleveland. They said right there— _ CLEVELAND TO TAKE AWAY SILVER CURRENCY.  _ Huh. 

 

Lance wasn’t allowed to change the course of history. He set the newsletter back on the table and fiddled with his monkey. 

 

The coffee was bitter. 1887 coffee didn’t have enough sugar. Blegh. 

 

That same man with the atrocious haircut and smart red jacket walked past the cafe nonchalantly. He was obviously trying to hide something. Lance watched him go by. 

 

El Mono Rey tingled slightly. Something was happenening to him—getting hotter, shaking from excitement? Lance didn’t know what that meant. His own stomach dropped slightly, and sweat beaded his brow. Something was wrong. 

 

Lance clenched his fist around the monkey, and abruptly got up from his seat. He threw a few coins onto the table, not caring if that was the right amount or not. His drop place was a short walk. Nothing wrong at all. 

 

He dropped his monkey, then snatched it out of the air as he landed back in 2017. His hat box swung from his fist. 

 

The monkey stopped shaking, and everything was back to normal. Lance had physics homework to do. He sat down at his desk and turned El Mono Rey around so he couldn’t pass judgement. 

 

He wished he had brought back that pamphlet. Donate it to a museum and get a free pass. That would’ve been cool. Maybe he could go to pre-settler times and bring back a fish skeleton, get an aquarium pass. 

 

* * *

 

Next weekend was 1923. Lance loved the jazz age. Bright lights, flapper fashion, and bombastic music flooded his senses, as did angry cars weaving around people walking in the streets. The sound of the horns pierced his ears.

 

The Great Gatsby hadn’t been published yet. It would take two more years. Lance silently cursed. He totally could have gotten a new copy of it. 

 

He narrowly missed being hit by a car. (There’s your Great Gatsby right there.) Lance banged on the hood lightly and shot a glare at the driver. It was a pretty fancy car. The driver took one hand off the wheel, like,  _ Watch where you’re going, ya moron! _

 

El Mono Rey tingled again. Lance brought him out of his pocket and scrutinized him closely. There didn’t seem to be anything wrong visibly, but Lance didn’t want to take any chances. It seemed like his plans to finally get those macarons he’d been craving from that one pastry shop were ruined. 

 

Someone banged into him, and on instinct, Lance tightened his grip on his monkey. He and the person tumbled to the ground. 

 

Lance heard a distinctly masculine groan coming from the person on top of him. He rolled him over and asked, “Are you okay?”

 

The person cracked open his eyes. Lance saw how big the bags under his eyes were, and silently considered giving him cucumber slices. 

 

“I’m fine,” the person said. “I, uh, I’m real sorry—” 

 

Something started vibrating in the man’s pocket around the same time El Mono Rey sent shocks up and down Lance’s arm. They stared at each other in barely disguised horror, and in almost perfect synchronization, said, “I need to go—” 

 

Lance scrambled to his feet and bolted down an alley, leaving the person stranded in the middle of the street. The person gave a shout—  _ “Hey!”— _ and ran after Lance, his red overcoat flapping behind him. 

 

Lance would deny giving a high-pitched shriek, but he ran faster, trying to escape the person. He ducked down several alleys blindly until he ran into a dead end. 

 

He didn’t know where he was in the city. He hoped it wouldn’t change in the future. He glanced behind him, breathing hard. No sign of the person.

 

Lance’s back hit the wall behind him. He slipped his hand into his pocket and tried to let go of El Mono Rey. They monkey tingled and seemed to clutch at his fingers before reluctantly falling, and Lance found himself in front of a closed strip club. At least no one was around. 

 

His stomach twisted and rolled. He shouldn’t have tried to travel so fast, and now his stomach was going to pay the price. He doubled up and dry heaved. If only his mom was around with saltine crackers. 

 

Lance made his miserable way back to his dorm room. There would be crackers and a toilet there. And his roommate, but whatever. The roommate could leave. Lance hadn’t even learned his name. 

 

El Mono Rey perched on Lance’s desk. Lance gingerly reached out to touch him, then grimaced when a small spark landed on his finger. 

 

“I’m sorry,” he told the monkey. “I was afraid you were going to break.”

 

If the monkey was alive, he would have huffed. As it was, Lance didn’t try to use him again for another couple weekends. 

 

El Mono Rey watched him with glossy black eyes as Lance did his homework. He texted his mom and told her what had happened. She responded anxiously, telling him she’d never had that happen to her, and what did he think he should do? Lance told her he’d wait for the monkey to cool down. 

 

**Goood idea,** she texted.  **Kepp me updated.**

 

* * *

 

El Mono Rey had the darkest eyes Lance had ever seen, and he’d seen pictures of vantablack on the web. Anish Kapoor could weep. 

 

They watched him as Lance paced in his dorm room, wondering if he could use the monkey again. He didn’t want that weird vibrating thing to happen again. He liked using El Mono Rey, and he wanted him to be safe. 

 

Light shimmered over the monkey’s eyes. Lance sighed, his chest tight, and scooped him up. He put on his coat and told his roommate he’d be back later. 

 

“1835.” 

 

All of Lance’s favorite cafe’s were in different time periods. This one sometimes had political dissidents in it, but Lance often paid them no mind. He wasn’t allowed to change the course of history anyway. 

 

He picked up a copy of the Evening Post. Nothing big on the headlines, just another funeral. Seemed like the dead person used to be interesting. 

 

Someone sat at Lance’s table. Lance flipped his newspaper down to give the stranger a considering stare. 

 

The stranger stared back, look for look. El Mono Rey vibrated in Lance’s pocket. Lance came to a realization.

 

“You,” Lance hissed. “You’re making my monkey do weird stuff. Go away.” He flipped his newspaper back up and pretended he was reading it. 

 

The stranger put something on the table with a small  _ thud.  _ He didn’t go away. 

 

Lance rolled his eyes irritably and looked at what the stranger had put down. It was a wolf figurine, and it regarded Lance curiously with yellow eyes. It’s teeth were slightly bared in a small grin, and it looked like it would be fluffy. The stranger didn’t take his hand off of it. 

 

“And  _ you,”  _ the stranger said, “have been making Wolf King upset. He wouldn’t look at me until I found you and your monkey.”

 

Lance raised one eyebrow at the stranger. He set El Mono Rey on the table, a few inches away from the wolf. El Mono Rey seemed to strain against Lance’s fingers, and Lance tightened his grip. He could see the stranger do the same.

 

It became so that Lance and the stranger could only focus on keeping the statues separate. Lance tried to pull El Mono Rey back, but he refused to go. 

 

The wolf shifted forward the slightest inch. Lance’s eyes widened, and he glanced up at the stranger, who looked just as panicked as Lance felt. His small moment of weakness shifted El Mono Rey closer the remaining inch, and the statues clinked together. 

 

Nothing happened. Lance breathed out in relief. The statues stood like that, forehead to forehead, soaking in each other like two halves of a whole reunited at long last.

 

El Mono Rey reluctantly separated and let himself slip into Lance’s pocket. Lance locked gazes with the stranger. 

 

“I’m Keith,” the stranger said. “So, this might be an odd question, but you can travel through time whenever you tell your, uh, monkey a year, right?”

 

Lance nodded slowly. “Yeah. I’m Lance. Same with you and your,  _ uh, _ wolf?”

 

The stranger— _ Keith  _ slipped his wolf into his pocket. They stayed silent for a moment, neither wishing to leave quite yet. Lance didn’t know what to do with this information. What does one say when they find out someone else has the same special ability you do?

 

“Mm-hm. So, uh, what time do you come from?” Keith asked. He could barely meet Lance’s eyes. 

 

Lance pursed his lips and considered how to answer. El Mono Rey told him that he needed to answer honestly, because they needed to be friends, because Wolf King and El Mono Rey needed to be together forever. 

 

“2017,” he said. “You?”

 

“I’m from 1983, actually,” Keith said. “So the, uh, the world didn’t end in 2012?”

 

“Huh. Explains the mullet. And—nah, the world didn’t end. But—have you seen Back to the Future?”

 

Keith looked confused, so Lance supposed not. “You gotta see that. Great movie. But we don’t have hoverboards either, so. And—”

 

“How’d you get your monkey?” Keith interrupted. He sent Lance a Look, same as his mom did sometimes.  _ Shut up. _

 

“My mom passed it down to me,” Lance said. “How ‘bout you? Did your mom give you your wolf?”

 

Keith’s mouth pressed into a thin line. “I found it. In a box in the orphanage attic.”

 

Lance’s turn to wince. “Oh. Sorry, man.”

 

“It’s fine,” Keith said. “You know what? I should go. Oh, and we could, uh, meet up again sometime. When do you…?”

 

Lance stood up from the table and pressed a few coins to the wood. “1950 good for you?”

 

Keith smirked softly. “Sure. You want to meet here?”

 

Lance pressed his fingers to the table they had used. His stomach didn’t seem to realize it couldn’t fly, and he needed to ground himself. “Sure,” he said. 

 

Keith stood up as well. “Great. Next Saturday, then.”

 

“I’ll be here.” Lance didn’t know what to do. He watched Keith walk away from the cafe and disappear down a few side streets. Lance stood in the middle of the cafe until the guy in the back told him to shove off. 

 

* * *

 

El Mono Rey would bounce if he could. As it was, he stood at the near edge of Lance’s desk after Lance swore he placed him on the back corner. 

 

“We are  _ going  _ soon,” he hissed at the monkey. “One more day. Jeez.”

 

Light shimmered in El Mono Rey’s eyes, like, We need to go  _ now.  _ He wanted to see Wolf King. 

 

_ “Later,”  _ Lance hissed. 

 

The roommate chose that time to waltz in, a girl on his arm. They were laughing. Lance ruined that somehow. 

 

Lance and the roommate locked gazes. Lance could feel the tension unfold between them, and he didn’t like it. He stood up abruptly and gathered his papers, saying, “I’ll go study in the quad, then—”

 

The girl on the roommate’s arm sucked in a breath, probably to say  _ We were just leaving,  _ but Lance waved her off with a smile. He slipped El Mono Rey in his pocket, a habit his mother had drilled into him so no one else would pick him up. 

 

The roommate scoffed. “You’re always carrying around that dumb monkey.”

 

Lance slipped on his coat and shot his roommate a glare. “And your point is?”

 

The roommate didn’t meet Lance’s eyes. He stared up at the corner above Lance’s bed with a look that could peel flesh from bone. They all remained silent for a long moment. 

 

Lance roughly shoved past his roommate, making sure to knock shoulders. He didn’t know what the  _ problem  _ was, but he damn sure wasn’t going to back down. 

 

The quad wasn’t very empty. It was a nice day, and people were out, playing guitar or frisbee or talking or studying. Lance put in his headphones (limited edition fresh from 2009) and blasted his tunes. 

 

We need to go, the monkey would say from time to time. Lance focused hard on his math. Advanced mathematics wasn’t a joke, and a far cry from  _ y=mx+b. _ Lance just didn’t have the time to focus on his monkey. Or Keith. 

 

* * *

 

The monkey was on Lance’s chest when he woke up. Lance didn’t know if his roommate had moved it or if the monkey had moved himself. He didn’t know which one he would have preferred. 

 

We need to go, the monkey implied. Right now. 1950. Let’s go. 

 

Lance gave the monkey a considering look, then carefully placed him on the desk. He rolled over and pulled the covers over his head, but sleep didn’t find him again. 

 

Lance groaned. The roommate was gone by the time Lance had returned from the quad and still hadn’t returned. Fine. He could be like that. Lance just wanted to sleep and study in peace. 

 

Let’s go, El Mono Rey said. Lance checked the clock—seven in the morning. He didn’t even wake up this early on weekdays. 

 

It was next Saturday. As much as he wanted to deny it, Lance’s stomach jumped at the thought of seeing Keith again. He was excited. It’s not every day one gets to meet another person who can also travel through time. Lance had never met one himself, though his mom had met one long ago.

 

He got up. Sleep wasn’t going to find him any time soon. He could study. There was always time to study. 

 

No, go to Wolf King, El Mono Rey urged Lance. He’s waiting for you. 

 

Lance glared at the monkey, but put his coat on. Fine. He’d do what the monkey wanted. 

 

El Mono Rey almost lept into Lance’s hand. Lance made his way through the early city to an alleyway near that cafe, now a renovated apartment building. Lance had looked up the price a couple days ago. It was expensive. 

 

“1950.”

 

2017 had been rainy and miserable. 1950 was actually pretty nice. Barely a cloud in the sky. 

 

The cafe was a small diner. Lance pushed open the door and ordered a strawberry milkshake. The guy behind the counter gave him a suspicious look, which Lance returned with raised eyebrows. He slurped from his milkshake and followed the guy with his eyes as he mopped the area behind the counter. 

 

He checked the clock, then had a double-take and checked again—okay, no, that couldn’t be right. It was only eight when he left, and now it was eleven in the morning? How? Lance’s grip on the monkey tightened, and he considered bringing him out and asking him. He didn’t suppose the monkey would give him an answer. 

 

The door jangled open, and Keith walked in. He sat next to Lance at the counter and ordered a side of fries. Lance subtly stole one once they came. 

 

They didn’t say much for the first few minutes. Lance finished his milkshake. They didn’t make them like they used to, back in 2017. 

 

“We should go outside,” Keith murmured. “That guy is giving us a look.”

 

Lance flicked his eyes to look at the guy behind the counter, swishing his mop back and forth over the tiles. The door jangled again, and a woman with a small kid walked in. She sat in a booth and ordered a hamburger for her kid and a shake for herself. 

 

Lance left a couple bucks on the counter and followed Keith outside. He knew what people in the fifties thought about two men who were together. They had to be friends, _or else._ Lance clenched his fist for a second. 

 

Keith asked, “What’s your favorite time period?” His hands were deep in his pockets, and he kicked a pebble on the sidewalk. 

 

“Early history,” Lance said with no hesitation. “Before people came over and this was all wilderness. Before the British or the Vikings or the French or whoever. It was all nature and peace and awesome. None of the animals are very afraid, either.”

 

Keith hummed noncommittally. “You ever been to Woodstock? You’d like it.”

 

Lance ran his thumb over El Mono Rey and said, “Yeah, I’ve been a couple times. It’s super great. Very peace-y.” He waved his hand back and forth like,  _ groovy, dude.  _ “Gets me in the mood for the school year.”

 

Keith shrugged his shoulders. “Sounds cool. Are you studying history?”

 

Lance pushed air through his lips,  _ pbtpbtpbt.  _ “You know half of all that is wrong.”

 

_ “I’m _ studying history.”

 

“Nah, I’m doing biology.” Lance blazed on, heedless of whatever Keith was going to say. “Marine biology. Have to save the dolphins or whatever. It’s pretty cool stuff, we get to visit the islands from time to time.”

 

Keith kicked his pebble again. “So did you get into MIT?”

 

“Nah,” Lance said. He laughed once, without humor. “No, too expensive. I’m at University of California, Santa Barbara. They’re right on the coast, too. It’s pretty great. We go out to Santa Cruz sometimes.”

 

Keith said, “But I thought everyone who wants to study serious science has to get into MIT. Is—what’s the future like?”

 

Right, Keith was from the 80s. Almost  _ forty years ago. _ He wouldn’t have the slightest clue about anything—the cost of college, of anything really. Lance snorted. “Stuff is a lot more expensive. I had to go to UCSB for in-state tuition. Uh, anime’s a pretty big thing since the nineties. The fucking— _ the internet.” _

 

Keith put his hand over his heart and glanced at Lance in shock. His face was more gentle and open than Lance had seen before. “Watch your profanity. This is the fifties.”

 

Lance pushed the sides of his mouth out. “Sorry. But dude, the internet—it’s the best thing. You can meet people from all over the world and share information. Like, last week I saw this video of Beyoncé and Nicki Minaj fucking it up in a concert—”

 

“Language. And who’s Beyoncé?” Keith asked, oblivious. Lance’s world ground to a halt. He literally stopped walking. 

 

Keith noticed after a second and turned back to look at Lance. His eyes were lined with wrinkles, too many for such a young person. 

 

“Who’s Beyoncé,” Lance murmured. “Queen Bey.  _ Queen Bey.  _ Only the greatest singer ever. Okay, so like she used to do country music, but then she switched to pop, and just last year she released  _ Lemonade— _ it was huge. Super popular singer. She’s got twins that are going to, like, save the world.”

 

“Huh,” Keith said, too polite to say anything else. “Okay.”

 

They walked in silence for a while. Keith didn’t have much to contribute to the conversation, but he looked like he was holding onto something important. Lance let him think about it. 

 

Keith, finally, asked, “What are we supposed to do?”

 

It was at once a simple and huge question. El Mono Rey urged Lance to keep this tenuous friendship going, because he and Wolf King needed to be together. Beyond that, Lance didn’t know, and he said as much. 

 

Keith kicked his pebble again. It skittered down the pavement, and Lance watched it go with some mild trepidation. It could be gone forever. It could change the course of history.

 

“I’m not allowed to go back with you,” Keith said softly, “but you could go back with me. My wolf’s kind of, you know, not  _ telling  _ me, but telling me that we need to be together because  _ they _ need to be together.”

 

“My monkey’s telling me the same thing,” Lance said. “I guess, maybe, weekly meetings? I’m not sure. I don’t know what we’re supposed to do.”

 

“Me neither,” Keith said. His shoulders were hitched up to his ears like he wanted to disappear into his jacket. “We’re just going to have to be together, I guess.”

 

1950 sent Lance a small breeze. It danced in his ear and through his hair. Not just his hair—Keith’s period-appropriate mullet flipped back and forth lightly. It was less of a mullet and more long hair, Lance saw when he paid closer attention. Still atrocious.

 

The breeze didn’t help Lance’s thought process any—derailed it, even. The way Keith’s hair flew framed his wrinkled eyes—not smile lines. Dark bags and puffy eyes. Lance wanted to bring back some product for Keith. His eyes were pretty, though. 

 

“1950,” Keith murmured. Louder, he said, “As  _ friends.  _ When do you want to meet next? Next Saturday good for you?”

 

Lance considered. He never used a planner, but he thought next weekend was fine. “I don’t have much going on, but I’ve got to study. Do you mind if I bring textbooks? We could, I don’t know, hang out before civilization got here.”

 

Keith glanced at Lance in shock. “Don’t just  _ say  _ that,” he hissed, “there could be people listening. I don’t—you shouldn’t  _ broadcast  _ the fact that we can  _ travel through time.” _

 

Lance scowled. “You know, you seem to be doing a pretty good job of it on your own,” he hissed back. “It’s not like people know who Beyonce is, or Nicki Minaj, or they could think we’re talking in code—listen.” Lance tried to compose himself. “People think what they want to think. They’re willing to bend what they hear into what they think is possible. So if I say we should go somewhere not settled by civilization, I could mean we’re going to a national park. Look, there’s no need to be unreasonable—”

 

Keith groaned. “Alright, whatever, just  _ shut up. _ Fine. Let’s just—” He grabbed Lance’s sleeve and  _ gently suggested  _ they go down an alleyway conveniently right there. It was like they were hiding. Lance carefully didn’t think about the reason two men in 1950 would be hiding from the public.  _ It’s because we’re talking about a sensitive subject,  _ he told himself. 

 

“Let’s just plan to meet in eleven hundred,” Keith hissed. “And we don’t have to talk to each other, or look at each other, and our statues can be together.”

 

Lance narrowed his eyes. He didn’t like Keith’s attitude. “Fine,” he said, shortly. “1100 it is. At the place where the diner will be?”

 

“Yeah,” Keith said. He stepped away from Lance and brought his wolf from his pocket. El Mono Rey buzzed in Lance’s hand, and Lance brought him out with a small roll of his eyes. The statues clinked, and without a ‘goodbye’, Lance dropped the monkey and left back to 2017. 

 

It was raining. Lance stood in the suburbs, in front of a closed laundromat. He grumbled and stuck the monkey in his pocket, still seething over the way Keith acted. Like he was just  _ so  _ much better than everyone else, like he  _ had  _ to get his way.  _ My way or the highway,  _ Lance’s grandma would say. Lance snorted. 

 

He snorted again, and checked his watch. 10:30. Time was messing with him, like normal. Lance didn’t mind the way the rain was pounding into him. It was good, California needed the water. They were in a drought, or coming out of one, Lance didn’t know. He didn’t really keep up with current events. 

 

El Mono Rey tingled in Lance’s pocket. Lance tightened his grip on him and kicked at a puddle. He cared less about the water splashing his pant leg than the fact he’d have to see Keith again in a week. 

 

His car was parked a couple blocks away. Lance kicked at the puddle again and bipped his keys. 

 

* * *

 

The roommate was there. Lance silently gathered his towel and a fresh set of clothes to take a shower. Because he needed more water pouring down on him. 

 

The roommate tsked. Lance surreptitiously glanced over at him, his hands stilling on his jacket. 

 

“Is there something you wanted to say,” Lance said, his voice tight. 

 

The roommate drummed his pencil on his desk. “Nah,” he said, clearly lying. “You just seem to spend a lot of time out. I’d be more careful if I were you.”

 

Lance narrowed his eyes. Being angry at people all the time was tiring, but Lance could do it. “Was that a threat?”

 

The roommate shrugged. “It’s whatever you take it to be. I’m just saying, someone could see you.”

 

“I wasn’t anywhere you could see me.”

 

The roommate hummed noncommittally. “Sure. I’m just looking out for you, man. Listen, this girl is going to come over tonight, and I was going to—” he made a rude gesture with his hips and his fist— “try an’ get some, if you know what I mean. So can you, I don’t know, not be here? It’s always awkward when someone else is in the room.”

 

Lance just stared at the roommate. “You’re kicking me out.”

 

The roommate smirked. “Not in so many words. Nah, just suggesting, like—I know, you’re not really into the whole  _ girls  _ thing, more loss you I suppose, but—”

 

Lance blinked, once, hard. “I’m not—I am into the whole  _ girls  _ thing. What are you  _ talking  _ about?”

 

The roommate rolled his eyes. “Dude, I  _ saw  _ you. Out on the quad. With your fuckin’  _ boyfriend.  _ Hey, don’t give me that look, I’m just calling it like I see it. And I’m seeing you fuckin’, I don’t know,  _ cuddling  _ with this dude that looks like he has a fuckin’  _ mullet—” _

 

Lance slammed his jacket on the hook and forcefully picked up his towel. “I don’t know what you saw, but that  _ wasn’t me,”  _ he hissed. “I’m not dating anyone.”

 

The roommate swung around in his chair and put his pencil on his bottom lip. “Whatever,” he muttered. “I mean, I’m cool with it and shit. If you want to keep it a secret, maybe don’t cuddle with your fuckin’ boyfriend out in the middle of the quad where anyone could see you.”

 

Lance wordlessly stomped out of his room and made his way to the showers. Whatever. He didn’t need to listen to his roommate anyways, not when he was obviously lying. He’d never  _ cuddle  _ with anyone with a  _ mullet,  _ and definitely not in the middle of the quad, where anyone could see him. 

 

The water was nice on Lance’s skin and back. He didn’t realize how tense his back was until it was given a thorough pounding. Lance rubbed his neck and tried to get it to crack. 

 

Keith didn’t know fucking  _ Beyoncé.  _ Lance would have to make some stupid mixtape or whatever for eleven hundred. He knocked his head on the shower stall and told himself to hurry up. 

 

* * *

 

“What are you doing,” the roommate asked, a tie thrown haphazardly around his neck. 

 

“Looking up how to tie a goddamn tie knot for you,” Lance murmured, scrolling through iTunes. His laptop was plugged in, and Lance was wearing his pyjamas, and he wasn’t planning on going anywhere.

 

“Tam’s going to be here soon,” the roommate said. “I thought you were going to clear out.”

 

Lance brought out a truly Victorian-era etiquette book from under his desk. His mom had bought it back when she had El Mono Rey and gave it to him last year. He said nothing, only flipped to page 146—Rules for Courting. 

 

“I’m chaperoning,” Lance said, squashing the laughter in his voice. “Really, you should have another, older woman in here with you, but I think I’ll work just as well.”

 

The roommate gave up halfway through putting his pants on and shuffled to Lance’s desk. “Dude,” he muttered, “where did you even  _ get _ that.”

 

  1. Lance let him flip through the book after putting a post-it note on the page he wanted. “Little bookstore in LA. Couldn’t find it twice.”



 

The roommate picked it up and looked at the back. “Doesn’t have a fucking, shoot—a blurb. A little summary.”

 

“Old books mostly don’t,” Lance murmured, trying to focus on his book. His science one, not the etiquette one. “Listen, I’m not leaving, so you’re kind of stuck without—” he made the gesture with his hips and his fist in response to earlier. 

 

The roommate placed Lance’s etiquette book back on his desk after a second, then turned away, scoffing. “I can’t believe this. You’re  _ kicking me out?”  _

 

Lance shrugged. He didn’t care. “You were about to do the same to me. And look at it this way—Your Tiffany or whatever would appreciate going out to a fancy restaurant, watching a movie, having a nice night. Or,  _ or,  _ you could stay here and chat. Chaperoned.”

 

The roommate scoffed again and took a step backward. Lance didn’t look, but he imagined him looking around for someone to back him up. Lance drew his feet up and tucked them underneath himself, criss-cross applesauce. 

 

“Bro,” the roommate said.  _ “Bro.  _ You can’t do that.”

 

“Neither can you. And look what you tried to do. And I thought you said her name was  _ Tam. _ Jesus, you shouldn’t even try to get with her if you can’t remember her goddamn name.”

 

The roommate waved Lance off, and a moment later, Lance heard the sound of a lanyard and a closed door. He was sure the roommate hadn’t finished his tie. Maybe not even his pants. 

 

Lance smirked in triumph. Peace and quiet in Santa Barbara, if Lance ignored the music pumping from a couple doors down. 

 

* * *

 

Lance was asleep, or he was trying to get there, with El Mono Rey hidden (locked away) in his jacket. The door banged open. 

 

The roommate burst into their room, tearing off his tie and throwing his lanyard into its bowl. “She fucking walked out on me,” he growled. 

 

Lance sat up blearily. “Fuck off,” he said, then dived back down under the covers. 

 

The roommate clicked on the lights and started undressing. “You don’t understand,” he griped, heedless of whatever Lance groaned at him. “She  _ walked out _ on me. In the middle of this fucking fancy restaurant, I spent tons on that place, and she  _ walked out.” _

 

“Why,” Lance asked, because the roommate wasn’t going to shut up any time soon. The light drilled through his blanket.

 

“I don’t know! I was just talking about this great chick I used to know, Rachel something, and she just got up and said she was going to the bathroom and ten minutes later I see her walking down the street!” The roommate chucked his shoes at the door, and Lance groaned, knowing he’d have to pick that up in the morning or it would drive him nuts all day. 

 

“You suck at the whole  _ girls  _ thing,” Lance said, then pulled his blanket over himself and squeezed his eyes tightly shut. 

 

The roommate groaned and flopped on his bed. “I do not,” he said. 

 

“Turn off the lights.”

 

The roommate did. 

 

* * *

 

Keith was waiting in 1100. He wore a red jacket and faded denim jeans. The wind whipped his hair back and forth in front of his eyes. Lance couldn’t tell what color they were, or what emotions they were hiding. 

 

Lance brought out El Mono Rey. The sky was threatening; clouds gathered on the horizon, dim and dark like they were holding a trump card. 

 

Without any words, Keith sat down on the ground. Lance followed suit. The wolf statue found its way to the ground, as did El Mono Rey, and Keith and Lance watched them touch each other for what felt like ages. Lance carefully didn’t brush Keith’s hand with his own—he couldn’t be sure, but Keith may have been doing the same. 

 

Birds were chirping. A couple rabbits gathered on the far edges of Lance’s vision, but didn’t encroach. 

 

Lance could hear Keith’s breathing over the wind. He slowly, surreptitiously, subtly glanced up to gaze at Keith, the way the wind tore his hair back and forth and in between. He needed a haircut. And some skin care product, Jesus, the man was greasy as sin. 

 

Keith’s mouth twisted in on itself, and he asked in barely a whisper, “Tell me about the future?”

 

Lance blinked slowly at Keith, very aware of how Keith’s own eyes slipped closed and stayed closed. “It’s nice,” he began. 

 

“I mean, some things are pretty bad, and some things are going to get a lot worse. But if you don’t focus on that, you’ve got smartphones, and more gender equality than before, and gay marriage nationwide. You know, my sister took my mom to the Women’s March in LA. She sent me a video, and Mom was yelling with everyone else, it was great.” Lance smiled softly, recalling the hair on his mom’s head not trapped by the hat spilling over her jacket and down her shirt. It was quite the vivid image—her mouth open in anger, not missing a beat to the chant. 

 

Keith rubbed his thumb over Wolf King. “Gay marriage?”

 

Lance bit the inside of his cheek, catching a small sliver and worrying it lightly. “Yes,” he said, choosing his words very carefully. 

 

 

“Yes,” he said again. Keith was silent. “That’s when—I’m sure you know what it means. It’s legal in all fifty states now.”

 

Keith’s shoulders sagged down. Lance couldn’t get a read on him, and he could usually get a read on anyone. He was like BBC Sherlock or something. 

 

El Mono Rey would be smiling if he could. Lance wanted desperately to tell him to shut up. He didn’t need that  _ sass,  _ thank you very much. 

 

Keith hummed when Lance didn’t say anything else. “Okay,” he said, expressionless. Lance couldn’t tell if he thought gay marriage was a good thing or a bad thing. He supposed it didn’t matter much. 

 

Lance’s free hand went to his pocket, almost without his knowing. It was slightly nippy out. He brushed against hard plastic, and Lance’s eyebrows shot right up—he had forgotten. Beyoncé! He’d brought Flawless with him, the version with Nicki Minaj at a concert. He’d had to download it from YouTube. 

 

His iPhone, miraculously, worked. Lance could blast the speakers, too, and didn’t have to worry about bothering anyone. 

 

“Listen, listen,” Lance said. In his excitement, he almost dropped El Mono Rey, but remembered himself at the last moment. He opened the video, engrossed in his voice, totally ignoring Keith’s confused look. 

 

“What is  _ that,”  _ Keith asked. Lance’s thumb paused over the glossy screen—he’d almost forgotten. Keith was from 1983. He hadn’t the slightest clue what an iPhone was, he couldn’t appreciate Lance’s 6 plus. 

 

To sum it up, Lance said, “It’s my phone. Look, it’s a little phone that I can carry around, and it’s got music and videos and games on it. I can text, like, pass notes I guess, but electronically? Look, it’s not important, I’ll tell you later. Just  _ watch.  _ This is Beyoncé.”

 

The video opened with big block letters, defining Feminist: _ “A person who believes in the social, political, and economical equality of the sexes.”  _

 

Keith’s eyes widened. “Dude,” he said, “you can  _ carry around videos with you.” _

 

Lance had to laugh, but he quickly silenced Keith. “Just watch.” 

 

Keith was enraptured. He watched over Lance’s shoulder, leaning over but not touching his body, his breath ruffling the hair over Lance’s ear.

 

Lance kept his gaze fixed on his video, or he tried to—Keith drew his attention like moth to a flame. Like he would self-destruct if he got too close. 

 

Keith pointed at the screen in excitement, the fabric of his jacket shifting. He pointed at Nicki Minaj—“Who’s that, that’s not Bouncy,” he said. 

 

_ “BEYONCÉ,”  _ Lance said loudly, pronouncing her name slowly. “That’s Nicki Minaj, she’s like the best rapper ever, counting, like, Wiz Khalifa and ASAP Rocky.” 

 

Keith listened closely. “She’s got a, uh, a very unique sound. I—”

 

_ “Listen to the music,”  _ Lance said. “I swear to god I am going to replay this shit if you can’t be quiet.” He kept a small smile off his face, trying to show Keith he wasn’t mad. 

 

Keith shut up and watched the rest of the video in silence. Lance could see his lips fold into themselves again. 

 

The video finished. Lance grinned slightly and waited for Keith’s verdict. After a moment, he prompted, “Well?”

 

Keith blinked and ran his fingers through his hair. “It’s, uh, it’s pretty unique. I’ve never heard anything like this before.”

 

“Do you like it?” Lance pressed. 

 

Keith shrugged, acting like he was trapped in a corner or caught in his lies. “Sure.”

 

Lance screwed his mouth to the side. “You don’t have to lie if you don’t like it. I won’t be too offended.”

 

Keith spread his hands minutely. “I mean, it’s  _ good,  _ but it’s something I’ve literally never heard before. I kind of need to get used to it before I like it, I think.”

 

Lance sighed. He thumbed through his phone, looking at all the saved images he had of Queen B. There was one of her at the Super Bowl halftime that Lance liked. Keith was quiet. Probably thinking about the song, though his mind could have been anywhere.

 

Lance’s thumb stopped over a screenshot of Beyonce’s blurb, the one that would show up when you typed her name into Google.  _ Born: September 4, 1981, Houston, Texas.  _

 

  1. Keith was from 83. 



 

“Beyonce’s literally two years old to you,” Lance whispered to Keith. He didn’t want to bring too much attention to his mistake. As that was the way the world worked, he was sure he would focus on  _ only that fact  _ for a while. 

 

Keith’s eyebrows raised, and he snorted. “No wonder I haven't heard of her.”

 

Lance groaned and ran his hand over his face. He needed to shave. 

 

They were both quiet for a long, long while, long enough for Lance’s thoughts to run from Beyoncé to Texas to deserts to the sky to the stars and the universes they held. 

 

For a second, Lance thought of another life, and another universe, where he was wearing white armor and flying. He didn’t know where the thought came from. It left as soon as it came. 

 

Lance thought about absolutely nothing at all. Not the way 1100 whipped through Keith's hair, not the way 1100 made Lance shift closer to Keith for warmth, not the way El Mono Rey and Wolf King clinked together and moved of their own accord. 

 

Keith’s voice, unbidden, broke the silence. “Do you think that’s enough,” he asked, not a question. 

 

Lance shrugged and tried to remember where he was. There was a full second, thick with possibility, before he said, “Sure.”

 

El Mono Rey sent shocks up Lance’s arm, but Lance ignored him. “Next Saturday, then.”

 

Keith nodded. “Yeah. Uh, does 1925 work for you?”

 

Lance tucked El Mono Rey into his pocket. “Yeah, sure.” The monkey vibrated, trying to tell Lance something. He ignored him. 

 

Keith nodded, his face lost in unsure emotions. “Uh. Thanks for showing me Beyoncé.”

 

Lance nodded and smiled softly. “You’re welcome. Good-bye, then.”

 

Keith raised one arm slightly and whispered, “Bye,” and he was gone. Blinked out of existence like he never was there to begin with.    
  
Lance brought out El Mono Rey and stared at his eyes. He wasn’t vibrating any longer, but if he could move (which he could, but Lance didn’t want to think about that), he would turn his back on Lance and act like a teenager throwing a tantrum.    
  
Lance sighed and went back to 2017, snatching the monkey out of the air before he hit the ground.    
  
He stood for a moment in front of a closed Thai restaurant. His face reflected back at him on top of a Buddhist statue. He could see the smiling face underlying his own, half-lit, harsh, like a ghost.    
  
As he walked back to his car, he ran his fingers over the smooth parts of his monkey. El Mono Rey was worn smooth from thousands of fingers in places, like his chest, the top of his head, and his hands. Everywhere else bristled with notches and wooden fur. Lance’s hand fit perfectly over the grooves. Always had. Always will. 

 

* * *

 

The roommate had ordered pizza, and there was a sour smell in the air of their dorm room. Lance pinched his nose closed and stole a piece (read: an entire pie) of pizza. The roommate didn’t stop him. His friends had hurriedly hidden little plastic baggies when he came in, so Lance supposed something was deserved. 

 

His science called. Lance plugged in his music and tuned out the rest of the library until someone sat down in front of him and opened their textbooks and a pack of industrial highlighters. 

 

Lance raised his eyebrows at them. They raised their eyebrows right back over the rim of their glasses. 

 

Lance pointed at the tub of highlighters and whispered, “Are you going to use all of those highlighters?”

 

The stranger put their hand protectively over the tub and whispered, “Yes. Are you going to eat all of that pizza?”

 

Lance put his own hand protectively over his box. “Yes.” They regarded each other for a moment. 

 

“You’re in that one class with me,” the stranger whispered. “English or whatever.”

 

Lance considered the stranger harder. Yeah, the glasses were familiar, but he was pretty certain someone that short would stand out. Well, everyone was short to him, but this was  _ advanced  _ short. “Are you sure?”

 

“Yeah,” the stranger said. “Yeah, we’re both the worst in the class. I think we’re the only science majors in there.”

 

Lance had a sudden vision of hiding behind a tower of beakers and lab coats, being assaulted by the works of Shakespeare. “Okay,” Lance said, still not entirely sure. “So did you like, need anything, or…?”  Wait,  _ worst in class? _

 

The not-quite stranger took out a yellow highlighter. “A slice of pizza?”

 

Lance reached for the tub of highlighters. They let him take a blue one, and took a slice of pizza in return. Lance and the stranger worked together in silence for some time. 

 

They tapped the table in front of Lance. Then again, more impatiently, when they didn’t get a response. 

 

_ “Lance,”  _ they hissed, “tell me what the central theme was in  _ The Tempest.” _

 

“I’m working on my math,” Lance muttered. “Go ask Sparknotes.” 

 

The stranger tapped more impatiently. “If you tell me, you can use my highlighters for the rest of the semester.”

 

Lance had to think. “It’s forgiveness. Prospero had to forgive the people who exiled him, see. I want the blue one.”

 

“Thanks,” they said. “Dude, you can use all of them. Just hit me up in English and tell me when you want to use them.”

 

Lance grinned. “Thanks.”

 

The stranger grinned back. “No problem. And my name’s Pidge.”

 

“Lance,” Lance said, “but you already knew that.”

 

“Damn straight.”

 

* * *

 

“Pidge, help,” Lance whispered in English class. “Tell me we didn’t have assigned reading.”

 

“We always do,” Pidge whispered back. Lance had found them in the far back of their English classroom and promptly put his stuff down right next to them. “But this chapter’s not due until next week, so you get a lucky break. We do have a small paper due, but that’s next class.”

 

“What’s the paper on,” Lance hissed, growing more desperate. 

 

“Your  _ butt.”  _ Pidge laughed. Lance was glad  _ someone _ was enjoying his ultimate demise. “No, it’s like only supposed to be five pages and it’s a character analysis of Prospero.”

 

Lance groaned. He wasn’t going to sleep tonight, that’s for sure.  _ Five pages?  _ Was the professor crazy?

 

“I’ll give you my notes later,” Pidge said, the angel. 

 

Lance’s phone went off. The professor shot him a dirty look, and Lance hurried to the hallway to answer. 

 

“Mijo,” his mom said, “Where’s El Mono Rey?”

 

Lance’s hand jumped to his pocket. Hard wood met his fingers. “In my pocket,” he said. 

 

His mom sighed over the phone. “Ay Dios mio,” she breathed, “thank God. Okay. Take caution with him, okay?”

 

Lance’s hand tightened over the monkey. “Mom, what’s the matter?”

 

“Nothing,” she said, “nada, just that someone sent me a—a letter. I’ll send you a picture, okay, mijo?”

 

“No, no, Mom, I can drive over,” Lance said. “I’ll go once this class is done, okay? Don’t go anywhere.”

 

He hung up and slipped his phone into his pocket. It clicked against El Mono Rey. 

 

In the classroom, he gathered his things. Pidge watched him, and hissed, “What are you  _ doing?” _

 

“Family emergency,” Lance whispered back. “I’ll see you later.”

 

* * *

 

His keys still fit in the door of his family estate—not much had changed since senior year of high school. The only thing was that Esperanza Torrez was shorter, or maybe her son was taller. 

 

Lance was ambushed. None of his siblings had reached college age yet, though Tico and Rosa were close. They were both planning to go to trade school, Rosa to become a cosmetician (“I’m going to put makeup on  _ Jennifer Lopez”)  _ and Tico to become a car mechanic. 

 

The youngest (Lita, three) crawled onto his shoulders, while Louisa and Lisa (both six years old) attached themselves to his stomach. Aaron (ten) and Gina (fourteen) tugged on his clothes and dragged him to the kitchen. Lance pulled Lita into his arms and tried to walk forward with the younger set of twins dragging him down. 

 

“Mom?” he asked, ducking his head into the kitchen. Esperanza turned around and gave her son a smile and a warm hug. 

 

“Mom,” Lance said. “Are you okay?”

 

She took Lita from Lance’s arms and sent Gina and Aaron to put up a show for the twins. “Sí, mijo, but you need to read the letter I got. I’m not the monkey’s caretaker anymore. That's your job, and this is your responsibility. And that makes this your responsibility, too.”

 

Esperanza went back to stirring whatever was in the small pot on the stove. Lance stood beside her and took Lita away, sending her to the rest of her siblings. He grabbed a towel and started drying dishes, an instinct deeply carved into him. His mother smiled at him.

 

Rosa appeared in the kitchen doorway. She gave Lance a kiss on the cheek and started drying dishes with him. 

 

The sounds of the Disney Channel were muted, but still audible. Lance couldn’t make out the words, just voices over jangly music. 

 

“How’s college going?” Rosa asked in their relative silence. “Also, can you help me with math? Precalc is kicking my butt.”

 

“Sure,” Lance said, but his mom interrupted. 

 

“Lance has to help me with something first, mija,” she said. “If he's feeling up to it, he can help you after. And only if it’s not past your bedtime, okay?”

 

Rosa scowled. She muttered, “You always do this to me, Mom.”

 

Lance watched this exchange with a vaguely shocked face. Rosa knew better than to speak to their mom like that. 

 

“College is going good,” he said, trying to lighten the mood. “I made a friend in my English class, they’re pretty neat.”

 

Rosa hummed. She grabbed the plate from Lance’s hand and placed it in the cabinet. “Watch what you’re doing with your hands,” she whispered. “That was dry.”

 

“Sorry,” Lance whispered back. In a louder voice, he continued, “I still don’t know my roommate’s name, but he gave me some pizza a week ago. And I made a friend outside of college,” he said as an afterthought, meaning Keith. ‘Outside of college’ was a vast understatement. 

 

Esperanza nodded and placed her spoon on the spoon holder. “Thank you, Rosa,” she said, a clear dismissal. When Rosa lingered, she added, “Why don’t you see what your brother is doing in his room? Tell him Lance is here.”

 

When Rosa left, Esperanza turned to her son and gestured toward her study. It was almost a forbidden room—none of the rest of the Torrez kids often stepped inside, and if they did, it was because they were in trouble. The perpetually closed window blinds made the tile floor ice cold. Esperanza’s feet were protected with her chancletas. Lance thought his socks would suffice. 

 

Esperanza brought a folded letter to Lance from behind her desk. The desk was immaculate, only a few books stacked on the corner and some loose papers in the center. 

 

_ Hello,  _ the letter said. 

 

Lance stared at the letter for a moment, not absorbing anything. He folded it down and looked at his mother, who had clasped her hands in her apron. 

 

“Are you and Rosa fighting?” Lance asked. 

 

Esperanza sighed. “Mijo, please, just look at the letter, okay? We’ll come up with a plan to deal with it, and—”

 

“Mom,” Lance said. 

 

She sighed again, telling Lance with no words that she was  _ tired of his attitude, she raised a better son than that.  _ “We are. Your sister wants to go to homecoming with a senior who is very bad. I said, mira, mira, Rosalinda, no es bueno. I said, mira, you’re only a sophomore, you have no business going to homecoming with a man three years older than you. She threw a fit.”

 

Lance put the letter on the table. “Oh.”

 

Esperanza gestured towards the letter. “No importa, so just read the letter, okay?” She grabbed it and shoved it into Lance’s hand. 

 

_ Hello,  _ the letter said. 

 

_ To the recipients of this letter. I have been eagerly waiting to make your acquaintance. There is a friend of mine who disappears quite often, whose company I enjoy dearly. I worry about him sometimes. I wonder if he is engaged in any criminal activity.  _

 

_ I am not sending a copy of this letter to the police, so have no fear. I have come to realize in the time before writing this letter that my friend has not been engaging in any criminal activity—at least, none that could possibly be traced back to him.  _

 

_ I remembered a stranger from my childhood. He was out of place—maybe it was the device in his pocket, maybe it was the clothes he wore—everything out of place with 2004. Maybe it was the fact that he appeared out of nowhere in an alleyway, a haunted expression on his face.  _

 

_ Today, my friend left without giving me an explanation why. He hasn’t yet returned. Today is the anniversary of that day I saw him appear in the alleyway. He was wearing the same clothes as then, and had his phone shoved into his pocket.  _

 

_ I believe my friend is travelling through time, though I cannot prove it. Or maybe I can. I believe it has something to do with the monkey statue he always carries around with him, no matter what I say about it.  _

 

_ Of course, maybe I can prove it. Who else has a genuine Victorian-era etiquette book lying around his dorm room, especially a marine biology major? Who else would have a 2009 pair of headphones, limited edition, still ready to use?  _

 

_ I will not go to any authorities on this matter. Anyone who reads this will likely declare me insane, as for the most part, people do not travel in time. So I will instead inform you, the parents, that I know your son is travelling through time. You know that I know. If you did not know before, you know now.  _

 

_ Have a pleasant day.  _

 

_ Sincerely, _

 

_ Chadford B Gray _

 

* * *

 

“And you don’t know  _ anyone _ named Chadford,” Esperanza said. “No Chad, no Ford, no nothing.”

 

“No, Mama,” Lance said, exasperated. “I promise I don’t.”

 

“Maybe it’s a fake name,” Rosa’s voice said from around the corner. 

 

Lance and his mother looked at each other, came to a silent agreement, and burst through the door of Esperanza’s study to see Rosa holding Lita. They were playing on the floor, Lita waving a toy train around a cooing. Lance remembered buying that train for Aaron. A lot of things were reused in their house.  

 

“I mean, Chadford is a pretty dumb name,” Rosa continued. “I can’t imagine why anyone would want to sign a letter like this to a relatively cool kid.”

 

“Thanks,” Lance said, bemused. Esperanza looked mad.

 

“No problem,” Rosa said. She gently took the train from Lita’s mouth. “And the way this guy writes is like reading an APLAC essay. He sounds really full of himself, and he has a good enough command of the English language that he can write it and control where he’s going with his point. So I’d say he’s an English major.”

 

“Okay,” Lance said. “So, not Pidge, then.”

 

“I don’t know who Pidge is, but sure,” Rosa said. “Do you know any English majors?”

 

Lance huffed through his nose in frustration. “No.”

 

“Rosalinda, enough,” Esperanza suddenly said. “That is enough. You were not supposed to be listening to Lance and I, especially not in my study. You—”

 

“Mom, please,” Rosa interrupted. “I’m tired of you treating me like I don’t know anything! I can help you guys! You know, it’s not like I haven’t seen Lance disappear to God knows where countless times! I knew you two were keeping things from me, and—”

 

“Rosalinda! I am your  _ mother—” _

 

_ “And  _ I don’t even care that you were leaving me out, but I could have  _ helped you,  _ and you know what? Chadwickford  _ whatever _ makes a lot more sense than I thought it would, now that I think about it, and—”

 

_ “Rosalinda!” _

 

Curious faces peered from around the corner. Lance went to go herd them off as the screaming match between Rosa and Esperanza escalated. 

 

Tico was at the foot of the stairs. Lance sent the rest of his siblings up and took Tico back to the screaming match. Tico could help.

 

_ “And you don’t ever respect your elders, little lady! I don’t—” _

 

_ “You place all these restrictions on me that are supposed to make my life easier, but—” _

 

Tico hurried to Rosa’s side, while Lance hurried to his mother’s. They both tried to diffuse the tension, with “Mom—” “Sis—” “Hey, it’s going to be okay—” “Please calm down, screaming won’t help—” but it didn’t really work. 

 

_ “I know this is all about that gangster that only wants you for your body, I won’t let him take you anywhere let alone prom—” _

 

_ “This is so not about Dean, you really don’t know me if you think it’s about him, it’s about the fact you think I’m helpless and I can’t put two and two together and that you think I’m dumb, and stupid, and—and—” _

 

Tico wiped away a tear from Rosa’s cheek. He cooed at her, whispering sweet little nothings. Lance was just surprised it took this long for someone to start bawling. 

 

Almost with an audible  _ Snap!  _ noise, the screaming stopped. The only sound in the hallway was Rosa sobbing into her brother’s arms, ugly crying with snot and pulled down faces. 

 

Tico gently led her away, giving their mother barely a glance and Lance a look that said,  _ Come up later so we can talk. _ Lance nodded. 

 

Esperanza only collapsed once they heard the twin’s footsteps fade away over the tiles. She buried her head in her hands and murmured, “Ay, mijo, mija, lo siento, yo no sé.” Lance put his hand on her back. 

 

“Mom,” he whispered, “I’m going to stay the night, but I have classes tomorrow. I need you and Rosa to make nice. Okay?”

 

Esperanza nodded. Sometimes adults needed a push in the right direction, too, like any other kid.

 

* * *

 

Lance knocked on Rosa’s door and waited. She opened after a minute and let Lance in. 

 

Rosa’s side of her room was covered in watercolor paintings done by herself and other artists, some internet friends and other prints. Lance took them in, as well as the sleeping form of Gina in the other half of the room. There were fewer posters there, only of punk band members and epic dragon art. 

 

Lance sat on the edge of Rosa’s bed and gestured for her to come closer. Rosa leaned her head into his side and stayed quiet for a long time. Lance could wait. 

 

“It’s hard being my age,” she finally whispered. “All these responsibilities and expectations. I want to grow up.”

 

“I know,” Lance whispered back, rubbing her shoulder. “You’ll get there someday. I did, and you can too.”

 

Rosa nodded. Lance felt it against his side. They were quiet for a moment, listening to Gina breathe. 

 

“I don’t really want to go to homecoming with Dean,” Rosa said. “He’s not respectful. And Mom’s been weird about guys since the Women's March. She doesn’t trust him around me. Like, he wouldn’t  _ do  _ anything bad, he just doesn’t listen.”

 

Lance worried his lip, trying to think of a solution. The obvious one jumped at him. “Then don’t go with Dean.”

 

“It’s not that simple.”

 

“Why? Is he threatening you? If he is, tell him I’ll go down there and beat his ass. He probably knows me. Knows  _ of _ me.”

 

Rosa snorted. It sounded a little desperate. “He’s not threatening me. No one else would take me, and I didn’t want to go stag… Well. I know  _ you _ went stag—”

 

“I went with Hunk,” Lance said. He played offended, trying to get Rosa to laugh for real. 

 

“That doesn’t count,” Rosa said. “You didn’t  _ like-like  _ Hunk. You’re not gay.”

 

Lance was quiet on his own terms. He let Rosa talk herself out, trying to figure out  _ Dean  _ and  _ homecoming  _ and  _ boys.  _ Lance didn’t know how to help her. 

 

_ Was  _ he gay? Sure, he’d take time out of his day to check out guys, same as he did girls. And sure, a few girls he’d asked out had asked him if he was into  _ butt stuff.  _ He just thought they liked it that way. No judgement. There was one girl who stormed out on him and called him a “twink” whatever. Whatever. 

 

The thing is, Lance  _ liked  _ girls. He wouldn’t trade them for boys. He liked the way they walked and looked at him, and the way their hair moved, and how they obviously kept themselves clean. Unlike  _ some people  _ he could mention. They were pretty, or cute, or beautiful, or any combination of the three. And they liked him back.

 

Boys, though. They could be pretty, too. And Lance like the way they walked, too, all self-satisfied or self-confident. Lance could see the appeal of some of them. The way they liked to show off, a little smirk dancing on their faces. 

 

Rosa stopped talking. Lance tightened his grip around her shoulders, then relaxed when he realized she had worn herself out. 

 

Lance tucked her into her bed quietly. Girl needed to sleep—tomorrow was a school day for her. It was for Lance too, but he was a college student, and he could function on a few Red Bulls. 

 

* * *

 

“What are you going to do?” Esperanza asked. 

 

Lance rolled his eyes. “Ask around for Chadford.”

 

Esperanza smiled with pride. “Yes. And what are you going to do if you find him?”

 

Lance pressed his foot lightly against the pedal of his car. “Demand he pay for his insurrection?”

 

Esperanza smiled slightly, for real this time. “Ask him what he wants. Okay, mijo, have fun at school, love you lots!”

 

“Love you too, Mom. Bye.” Lance pressed down the gas again, lurching forward. His mom let him go. When Lance looked in the rearview mirror, she had already turned back to their house. 

 

The ride back was quiet. Nicki Minaj was on the radio, an old song from five years ago. Lance’s hand jumped to his pocket during a stop light, almost by instinct. El Mono Rey met his fingers with his warmth and his insistence that they needed to be with Wolf King,  _ right now right now.  _

 

Lance frowned. “What’s your problem?” he whispered. “He’s fine.”

 

The drive back turned more tense. El Mono Rey wasn’t usually like that, irrational and desperate. Lance knew nothing major was wrong, though. History would have told him if something was wrong. 

 

There were so many problems Lance needed to think about and work through. It was all so hard and needless. There was the stupid Chadford whoever, then Rosa and his mom fighting—Lance hated when his family fought. They shouldn’t. And when they did, Lance was somehow always caught and dragged into it. 

 

And then El Mono Rey being a little turd face. Whatever he wanted, he wasn’t going to get. Lance set himself into stubbornness and refused to listen to the monkey.  

 

Back at his dorm, Lance set the monkey down firmly on his dresser and refused the universe to move him while Lance got a coffee. 

 

When he got back, the monkey was gone.

 

* * *

 

“No, Mami, I’m not going to go back. I know he’s on campus somewhere, hiding somewhere—” There was a knock on the door. “I have to go.”

 

Lance hung up on his mom. The person on the other side of the door knocked again, impatient. 

 

It was probably one of the roommate’s friends. The roommate himself was out, probably getting pizza. Lance hadn’t searched that side of the room—he didn’t think he needed to. 

 

The man on the other side of the door was withered and elderly. Lance could see kindness and longevity in the crinkles of his skin, though. He leaned on the side of the door and told the man that his roommate was out. 

 

“Good,” the man said, “it’s you who I want to talk to anyways.”

 

Lance frowned slightly. “I don’t know you. And I’m not interested in whatever it is you’re selling, thanks—how’d they even let you in?”

 

The man said nothing, only smiled and held out a small statue of a monkey to Lance. 

 

“I believe you recognize this,” he said. Lance whipped his hand out to grab El Mono Rey, but the man moved quicker than Lance would have thought possible and hid the monkey behind his back. “Yes, I thought you’d do that. We should talk about all this.”

 

Lance crossed his arms and stood straighter. “Here’s a good place as any. How’d you get the monkey? No games, old man.”

 

“I’ve always known I needed to do this, ever since I was your age,” the man started. “It’s the only way history can continue forward. Some of these times are going to be hard, and you will face much adversity.  No, listen, listen—I have lived a long time and I have gained much wisdom. You will know, by the time you are as old as I am, what I am talking about. 

 

“The monkey loves you. He loves you more than he loves your mother, more than he loves Wolf King. You will come to understand this. No matter what, Lance, it is  _ you  _ who El Mono Rey would sacrifice himself for. 

 

“I have talked with my husband. This is a sacrifice both of us must make, but we are willing. You will know when you are older. I promise.”

 

The old man took Lance’s hand and pressed his monkey into his palm. He wrapped his hand around Lance’s own and held on for dear life. “If I wait any longer, there won’t be anything left of me to give this to you.” Lance could feel the man’s hands start to pull away. 

 

“Wait,” he said, because he had to. “Who  _ are _ you?”

 

The man looked deep into Lance’s eyes, a dark and deep blue reflecting back at Lance. A dark and deep blue El Mono Rey would take sometimes to gaze at Lance, and this gaze felt no different. 

 

The old man’s face crumpled into well worn smile lines. “My name is Lance Torrez. I’m _you.”_

 

Before Lance could say a word, his future self slipped out of the hold on the monkey, and he vanished. 

 

* * *

 

“And I swear to God, he couldn’t have been more vague,” Lance said. “How does that even happen?”

 

“You mean  _ you _ couldn’t have been more vague,” Keith said. “You’re the one who said all this to yourself.”

 

“Please don’t confuse me any more,” Lance groaned. “This whole thing is frustrating as is. And I still don’t know where the original monkey is! I’m freaking out. I mean, I can’t just leave him hanging around. That’s not safe.”

 

“I know,” Keith said, his fingers running over his wolf. 

 

Keith’s fingers rested lightly on his wolf. He studied it closely, and Lance took the time to study Keith in turn. The way his hair fell in front of his face like he hadn’t the time to cut it. The shape of his shoulders as they slumped in the chair, totally not period appropriate but no one paid attention anyway. 

 

Keith’s eyes flicked up to Lance, and Lance jerked his head away. He saw Keith’s mouth turn up into a smile from the corner of his eye. 

 

“Shut up,” Lance mumbled, his face pushed down into his hand. He risked a glance at Keith to see a momentary look of something like fondness fall away. 

 

“I didn’t say anything,” Keith said. 

 

“I don’t know what I’m going to do,” Lance groaned, deliberately moving away from dangerous topics. “I don’t even know where to start looking! He’s got to be close somewhere, I know it.”

 

Keith hummed noncommittally. “I should go.”

 

“Go where?” Lance thought he knew where. 

 

Keith shrugged, then stood up. He didn’t quite meet Lance’s gaze, choosing instead to focus somewhere above his eyebrows, maybe a little to the left. “Back to the future.”

 

Lance barked in laughter. “You did  _ not  _ just name-drop a Michael J Fox movie.”

 

Keith frowned and tilted his head very slightly. “What are you  _ talking  _ about?”

 

“Oh my god. Back To The Future? Marty McFly? Doc Brown? You’re from the eighties, how do you not know this?” Lance scrubbed a hand over his face. “Do you even watch movies? Are you some kind of hermit?”

 

“I’m leaving,” Keith said, and left. Lance was left at their table at their cafe, letting loose a tepid chuckle from time to time. He was at that specific stage of tired where everything was funny, where he had to laugh or he’d cry. 

 

“Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” 1943 said in the form of a concerned server. “We don’t allow drunks on the premises.”

 

Lance waved a pointer finger in the air from his position, slipped down from his chair with his legs splayed as far as possible under the table. “I’m not drunk,” he said. 

 

“Sir, you’re scaring the children,” 1943 continued. “I’m afraid I must be firm about this—you  _ must _ leave the premises.”

 

Lance gave the server a look. He heaved himself up, all his lankiness and hard edges, and insolently strolled towards the door. He didn’t pay for his food, either. Didn’t need to, they were kicking him out anyways. 

 

* * *

 

Back to the Future was released in 1985. Keith missed it by two years.

 

* * *

 

**Rosalinea is sgoing to homecoming wirh her Darrek boy,** Esperanza had texted. 

 

Lance checked the time: 12:37. The text was from two hours ago, and Lance should have checked before time travelling because his mom would be  _ mad _ he hadn’t replied. 

 

**Who’s Darrek,** Lance tapped. 

 

Half an hour later, he got his reply:  **I mean Dean. These names with D at the frot are stupid. Idont like them. His mather coudn’t name his oemtsthing better?**

 

**_Mom, it’s just a name,_ ** Lance almost sent.  **Did they go yet?**

 

**She’s getting ready,** Esperanza said.  **Robertico is helping her with her dress and herr hair .**

 

She sent an image of Rosa and Tico. Rosa was in a salmon dress with her hair half up and gently curled. Lance couldn’t see very well from this angle, but he thought Rosa was having the time of her life, animated and smiling. 

 

**She looks happy,** he said. 

 

**She is.**

 

Lance placed his phone face down on his desk and cracked open his textbook. It was something important about physics and all that Lance couldn’t understand. He had more important things to worry about, like,  _ where was his damn monkey.  _

 

* * *

 

Lance must have waited for an hour. Maybe two. 

 

Keith was supposed to be there. Lance had waited for what felt like forever. They’d made their plans, right? This  _ was _ where he was supposed to be? Right time, right place, right? 

 

_ God,  _ they really needed to plan these things better. Lance needed to get an agenda or something. A daily planner. 

 

* * *

 

Next weekend he had to study for midterms, so Lance holed up in the library with Pidge, and they trudged through the works on Shakespeare with copious amounts of trepidation. 

 

“Othello doesn’t even  _ matter,”  _ Pidge said. 

 

“I mean, you’re right, but we still have to do this,” Lance mumbled. “Main theme. Let’s go.”

 

“Jealousy,” Pidge said after a moment. 

 

“You looked that up on Google.”

 

Pidge threw their phone at him. “Shut  _ up.” _

 

* * *

 

Lance went back to where he and Keith were supposed to meet last weekend. Maybe he was sick…? People had to take midterms around this time. Maybe Keith was studying back in 1983. 

 

1456 whipped through Lance’s hair. Their cafe place was empty, had been for hours; Lance went to the coast. It didn’t take long. 

 

The ocean had always seemed to try to say something to Lance. The way it lapped at the sand, desperately reaching up towards land. Seagulls screamed high above, using their own language to talk with the sea. 

 

Lance didn’t know what they were trying to say. It might have been important, it might have not. El Mono Rey didn’t say anything either. Lance didn’t expect him to. 

 

* * *

 

**I’m worried,** Lance told his mom.  **It’s been two weeks.**

 

**H’ll show up eeevntuauly,** his mom texted back. 

 

**I think I should check 1983. He might be there.**

 

“Hey, who are you texting,” Pidge asked, “and how could they possibly be more important than what we are doing right now?”

 

“It’s my mom,” Lance said. He put his phone face down and thus missed the text his mom sent him. “Okay. We did Othello last week, now we need to see about The Tempest.  _ Why _ did we both take the Shakespeare class as science majors?”

 

* * *

 

1456 was  _ still  _ empty, third weekend in a row. Lance only stayed for a minute before going back to 2017. He ate a small cracker to settle his stomach—the price of impatience.

 

Okay, so Keith wasn’t going to show up. This wasn’t the time to panic—the time to panic had been three weekends ago, the first time they missed each other. 

 

Maybe Keith was still in 1983? That was where he was from in the first place. Honestly, it wasn’t that much of a stretch. Totally plausible. 

 

1456 whispered through trees. Everything was trying to tell Lance something. He just couldn’t  _ hear it. _

 

Lance closed his eyes and brought El Mono Rey to his forehead. The monkey was warm in contrast to the sea breeze. Lance centered himself around his statue. 

 

He brought the monkey to his lips and waited for a moment. Maybe if he stayed a moment longer, 1456 would tell him what he needed to hear. 

 

“Nineteen eighty-three.”

 

* * *

 

It was almost dark. 

 

Lance blinked, then brought El Mono Rey away from his face. When he left 1456, the sun was only just beginning its descent. Now twilight reigned, and streetlamps flickered. 

 

Keith was there—fitting, in this twilight world. He crouched around boxes stacked around the doorway of some warehouse, far away from wherever Lance had come from. Keith didn’t know he was there, and he was so still Lance worried about if he was alive. Then Keith shifted back ever so slightly, so fast that you blink and you’d have missed it, and Lance put El Mono Rey in his jacket pocket. 

 

Lance’s whole life hinged on whether or not to make the bitchy comment. He did, in the form of: “You know, most of God’s children are barely presentable, and you  _ still _ take the cake.”

 

Keith leaped so far he cleared the boxes, then whirled around to glare at Lance. “What are you even  _ doing _ here?”

 

Lance shrugged and kept his face carefully blank. “You skipped out on me for three weekends in a row. I thought I’d check up, see how you’re doing, maybe catch a drink? You left me high and dry, man. And the way you left three  _ weeks _ ago wasn’t the best, either.”

 

Keith looked at Lance for a moment, then closed his eyes and gently brought his hand up to scratch the side of his face. Lance noticed the dark bags swallowing Keith’s eyes. He looked exhausted; Lance just wanted him to sleep. 

 

“Seriously though,” Lance said after a solid moment. “What’s going on? Are you okay? I was worried, man.”

 

Keith scrubbed his hand through his hair. “No, I’m fine, it’s… uh. I’m an airhead. Wolf King, he’s… gone. Totally motored.”

 

Lance almost said  _ Same, _ but he restrained himself. His outlet was squeezing El Mono Rey until the monkey had to raise protest. 

 

“So… you think he might be in here?” Lance asked. 

 

Keith glanced over his shoulder at the warehouse entrance and lowered his voice. “Yeah. It’s been three weeks—he’s got to be somewhere. This blows, dude.”

 

“You are blowing my mind,” Lance whispered. “Okay, okay, enough moping or whatever, let’s just go check it out, okay?”

 

The air went out of Keith’s shoulders. “I suppose we should, then.”

 

Lance gestured grandly. “Go right ahead.”

 

Keith scratched the back of his neck this time, and swung around the boxes to walk right through the doors like he owned the place. It seemed to work—no one stopped them, even as they were closing up. Keith looked into every open box and would rummage through them if no one looked their way. Lance just kind of followed him and kept an eye out. 

 

And surprise surprise, the wolf was nowhere to be seen. Keith was all for staying behind and checking after hours, but Lance figured they’d be caught and taken to the police, and he didn’t want to have to explain why a dark-skinned and undocumented person was crawling around in a warehouse after hours. 

 

“Then what are we going to  _ do?” _ Keith groaned. “We have  _ two minutes  _ until they lock the doors for good.”

 

Lance was about to open his mouth and suggest they get out of there. He paused with his head tilted half to the side, and distantly, he heard Keith ask what the matter was. 

 

Lance brought El Mono Rey to his mouth and told the universe to take them to itself. 

 

He didn’t think anything had happened until he heard rapid footsteps behind him and Keith yelling at him to “stop, stop, wait for me!”

 

His feet didn’t stop, though, and once Lance realized he freaked out. He tried to will his muscles to stop moving, and went so far as to bend over and try to hold his feet to the ground. It only stopped him for a moment, enough for Keith to catch up. 

 

Keith jogged next to him. “Where are you going? What’s going on? What did you  _ do?” _

 

“I don’t know!” Lance burst out. “I just asked my monkey to take us to Wolf King!”

 

“Are you  _ crazy?” _

 

“No!”

 

Lance didn’t get tired. Which was good, because they walked for close to an hour. Keith slowed from a jog to a fast walk, and then back to a jog in the time it took for Lance’s feet to slow and then stop in front of one specific college campus. 

 

The Santa Barbara College of the University of California was almost dead at this time of night. They were allowed to enter, and Lance’s feet carried them past the main entrance towards the east end of campus, on a path Lance knew well. 

 

“Where are we going?” Keith whispered. 

 

Lance didn’t say anything. He thought he knew where. He didn’t like it, but then, he didn’t have to like it.

 

And indeed, the San Nicolas residence hall loomed, spotted with lights of students staying up to study. The last remnants of twilight disappeared, making the streetlights and the lights from the dorms the only way to see. Keith’s face was thrown into harsh contrast, and Lance imagined his own face was the same. 

 

At least until they stepped inside the building, where they were cast into a flat, fluorescent light. Lance feet took him upstairs, on a path that Lance didn’t need prompting for. 

 

He stopped in front of his door. In 1983, the names written on it were different, but Lance could ignore that. Everything else—the wood, the carpet—were the same. 

 

Lance’s feet stopped, and Keith stood next to him, his gaze flickering from Lance to the door and back. He was breathing a little hard, and bounced on the balls of his feet besides. 

 

Lance took a deep, determined breath, and knocked firmly on the door. No one was behind it—or no, there must be someone in there because Wolf King was in there. Lance knocked again, just to make sure no one was going to answer the door. 

 

He always had his lanyard on him. It was habit ingrained in his college student-ness, habit like helping his mom clean dishes or stealing Pidge’s highlighters. The lanyard held his house, car, and dorm keys, the latter of which was the most necessary. 

 

This would be his dorm room, some forty odd years in the future. And looks like they hadn’t changed the locks yet, because it only took some twisting for Lance’s key to fit and turn. 

 

The door swung open the way it always did, which is to say, it banged against the wall and rebounded the slightest bit. There was a person inside, though Lance took some squinting to see the features in the dimly lit room. 

 

“What the fuck,” Lance said. No, this couldn’t be possible. 

 

Lance’s roommate stood up abruptly and took a broad step into Lance’s personal space. Lance couldn’t help but take a step back, and Keith went with him, strangely silent. 

 

The roommate huffed through his nose, once, sharp, and Lance could see the tension in the shape of his shoulders. They stayed chest to chest for a long moment, half in the hallway and half in the room, cast in shadow and light. 

 

Abruptly, the roommate spoke in an almost conversational tone, like Lance wasn’t shaken to his core. 

 

“It’s so odd,” he said. “I thought I’d have more time to figure out how this thing works. This—” he held up El Mono Rey, and Lance’s world stopped for a moment. 

 

There was some angry buzzing in his ears, and when red faded from his vision, an arm was holding him back. Lance stopped trying to claw the roommate’s face off but he did not back down. 

 

“…This,” the roommate said deliberately, “doesn’t go into the future. But it does go into the past—you already know all of this. Argh, I should’ve known better than to lead with exposition.” The roommate took a step back to put his head in his one hand and groan. 

 

“I asked it to bring me wherever it wanted, and it brought me here of all places,” the roommate continued. “Your freaking monkey is defunct. All it wants is this fucking wolf whatever. What’s so great about the Wolfskönig, anyways? What’s so great about nineteen eighty-three?”

 

Keith actually  _ growled _ behind Lance, only held back by the fact that Lance took up the entire doorway. The roommate smiled—smirked rather, and brought out Wolf King. “Looking for this?”

 

Keith lunged forward, and Lance put his arm out to brace himself against the door frame. Violence was  _ not _ the answer, not when they could convince the roommate to give the monkey back. Keith hit the outstretched arm and flailed against it for a moment. The roommate watched all this unfold with some mild trepidation. 

 

“Anyway,” he said after a significant pause. “Whatever. Enough villain monologuing for me.” He brought both statues to his mouth and contorted his face in a gruesome triumph. 

 

And suddenly Lance thought he knew what to say, but all he could get out was a “Chad—”

 

Because who else could that letter have been from? The roommate paused with the statues close to his mouth, and Lance was so incredibly tempted to snatch his monkey and run off with him. 

 

“Lotor, actually,” the roommate said. “I just thought Chad sounded cooler.”

 

While Lance was still reeling and still holding back Keith, Lotor whispered something into both the monkey and the wolf, and he was gone. 

 

Keith crumpled over Lance’s arm and clutched at his stomach. “Damn it,” he whispered. “He’s—he took Wolf King. Urmph. 1950, go go go—” he swatted at Lance’s arm, then held onto his sleeve as tight as he could. It reminded Lance of when his mother was still teaching him how to use El Mono Rey, and how she would cling to his arm so she wouldn't get stranded in time. 

 

Lance brought his monkey and told him what Keith had told him. They burst into 1950 Santa Barbara on the pavement outside Lance’s dorm building, right when Lotor travelled away and scared some students walking home. The students decided that  _ what I cannot understand I must fight, _ and they definitely did not understand Lance and Keith appearing out of thin air. They set upon them like a pack of angry wolves, and Keith got close enough to Lance to whisper “Eighteen hundred.”

 

Someone pulled at Lance’s arm, so Lance had to contort his back to whisper the date to El Mono Rey. Lance brushed off whoever was holding onto him, or the universe refused to bring them along, because Lance and Keith popped out into 1800 just in time to leap out of the way of some runaway horse. 

 

“No one’s even supposed to be out here by this time,” Lance said. “They’re all on the east coast.”

 

Keith tugged at Lance’s arm and pointed at the head of blond hair ducking behind a tree. Lance and Keith got closer, never letting go of each other, only for Keith to lose his footing as Lotor travelled again. 

 

Someone else using Wolf King was obviously taking its toll on Keith—he could barely function, barely walk or spit out years and dates. 

 

“Nineteen hundred.”

 

“Eleven fifty.”

 

“Oh, interesting—thirteen sixty-six.”

 

Lance didn’t want to go. Keith was in pain, and they had been going all night. Lance wasn’t prepared. He should be playing video games or studying or sleeping right now. Not this crazy wild goose chase—the monkey should only be used for good. And he had to get his monkey  _ back. _

 

Keith winced and almost fell over. Lance grabbed his arm at the last moment. The whiplash from 1366 to 1983 would be intense. 

 

“Fuck,” Keith whispered. “He’s in nineteen ninety. Umph—”

 

Lance brought Keith to his side. It was pitch black, and the wind blew Keith into Lance’s chest more than once. Or maybe Lance was pulling him in. Either way, he was reluctant to let go. 

 

The thing is, you can’t go into the future. Lance was sure there was some great big explanation as to why not, but all he knew was that it wasn’t allowed. 

 

Lance squeezed his eyes shut and brought his statue up to his lips. He rested there for a moment, feeling the notches catch on his nose and chin. A corvid cawed, and Keith groaned, and the wind blew through Lance’s shirt. 

 

_ He belongs with me, _ Lance told the universe. El Mono Rey grew warmer, almost burning hot, and Lance compounded on his statement:  _ Keith and I are going to go into the future, and you are going to allow it.  _

 

_ Well, _ said the universe, or maybe said the monkey,  _ I can’t argue with that. _

 

* * *

 

It wasn’t raining in 1990, but it was going to soon, or maybe it just had. The sound of cars on the street, and of motorcycles, almost masked the sound of Keith’s knees hitting the pavement. 

 

“Keith?” A beat, silent save for honking horns. “Keith?”

 

Lance kept his hand on Keith’s back, keeping their connection to this time and each other. Keith dry heaved onto the pavement, and Lance looked up into the neon lights and passing cars. One of them came real close to splashing Lance with water. Lance waved the hand holding El Mono Rey at them.

 

“Keith?” Lance asked once more. Keith groped upwards, eventually finding Lance’s arm and using it to hoist himself upright. He looked wane and pale, or maybe that was just the neon lights across the street casting his face into different colors. 

 

“Are you okay?”

 

Keith nodded slightly and dropped his head onto Lance’s shoulder. He took a moment for himself, most likely to make sure he wasn’t going to ralph all over Lance’s shirt. 

 

“Why two kay,” Keith rasped, and after a moment Lance realized he meant  _ Y2K. _ Year two thousand. Lance didn’t go quite yet, and Keith whispered “He’s in two thousand five now, hurry—”

 

Lance, gentle, brought Keith into a hug. They ground to a halt as 1990 surrounded them, the sounds of cars rushing by and neon lights washing over them for a long, long minute. 

 

“I don’t want you to be hurt,” Lance murmured. “I want you to be safe and secure and healthy. I want you to be happy and warm.”

 

After a moment, Keith brought his hand up to rest on the middle of Lance’s back. He said, “I like you too, man.”

 

Lance buried his face in Keith’s hair and just stood there, in 1990, and the wind was picking up and the rain was starting to drop. 

 

“Two thousand seventeen,” Keith said. “He let go.”

 

* * *

 

They were five blocks away from Lance’s dorm room. Lance didn’t want to let go of Keith—this was new, uncertain. If they let go… 

 

So they didn’t let go. Keith leaned on Lance’s side. They passed several night people, dressed to the nines, taking selfies. Keith ducked his head into Lance’s shoulder and held on tight. The future was a scary place, and Keith wasn’t ready. 

 

Lance swiped his key card through the door. It was late—almost two in the morning—but that didn’t stop the dorm from being somewhat active. There were always people studying for one exam or another, always people finishing their essays. 

 

Lance led Keith up to his room. The only name on the door was his own, in blue felt stickers. Lance had put a dolphin sticker up there too, but it had faded over time and peeled off one day. 

 

The door was unlocked. Lance pushed it open and stepped inside—it truly had not changed since 1983. Same carpet, practically the same military-style bedframe. 

 

Lotor stood in the middle of the room, his back to Lance and Keith. The room was dark as sin, only lit by the sliver of hallway light. Lance’s shadow reached up Lotor’s back, and Lotor turned to face them, his teeth bared, disheveled. 

 

“Your fucking monkey doesn’t  _ work,”  _ Lotor growled, low and deep. He turned, and Lance saw his monkey, lying in Lotor’s half-curled palm. “It won’t go anywhere.” Lotor’s hand clenched around the statue. 

 

Lance’s hand tightened around Keith’s arm. Keith bore it, and Lance glanced over. Keith was half lit by the hallway, his face cast into deep shadow. His eyes were narrowed and tense and directed at Lotor, who sneered. 

 

Lotor chucked the statue at Lance, and without thinking, Lance let go of Keith to catch it. 

 

Lance felt the hard wood of El Mono Rey land in his own palms, overly warm from Lotor’s body heat. He turned towards Keith, thinking maybe he could stop whatever was going to happen, because he knew it’d be bad—

 

Keith wavered on his feet for a second, and he closed his eyes, and Lance knew he was bargaining with the universe just as hard as Lance had. 

 

And then Keith opened his eyes, and he was still here, and Lance held two monkey statues in his hand. They’d  _ won. _ And that’s why Lance didn’t think to stop Keith as he darted forward and punched Lotor in the face. 

 

Lotor went the fuck  _ down. _ Keith stood for a moment over his body, then knelt and whispered something Lance didn’t catch. There was another moment, and someone outside opened their door. Lance shot them a look, and he must have missed some vital interaction, because when he turned back Keith had slipped his wolf into the pocket of his jacket and made his way back over to Lance. 

 

“We should go,” Keith said. “There’s nothing left for us here, right?”

 

Lance looked at Lotor. He was on the ground—a drop of blood landed on the carpet, dripped from his nose. And then he was on his hands and knees, struggling to his feet, and Keith said from down the hallway, “Come on.”

 

* * *

 

Lance’s phone buzzed. 

 

The office person paused with their mouth poised to speak, and said, “Is there something more important than me that you must take care of?”

 

“No, no,” Lance said. He left his phone in his pocket. Honestly, why were old people so against the advent of technology? “Please, continue.” 

 

The office lady nodded slightly and placed her folded hands on the desk between them. “You say you simply must get a roommate reassignment. Any particular reason?”

 

_ My roommate tried to kill me and stole the most valuable possession I have.  _ “His opinions differ vastly from mine, in a way that could cause me and people I love harm.”

 

The lady hmmed noncommittally. “Any other reason?”

 

Lance fidgeted in his chair. The wood was starting to hurt his butt, and he wanted to stretch. “He stole a prized family heirloom.” 

 

“Stealing is a very serious accusation. Are you certain it was he who stole this heirloom?”

 

“Yeah. Yes. He gave—I convinced him to give it back.”

 

The lady held Lance’s gaze for a moment, then reached down into the depths if her desk. Lance stood up the slightest bit, trying to see over the expanse of pure  _ desk, _ but only managed to get a view of floral skirts and dark pink cardigans. He made a face. The lady was  _ old. _

 

She resurfaced with some pieces of paper. Lance groaned internally— _ paperwork. _ Public enemy number one. 

 

The lady pointed at the first sheet of maybe five. “This is to request a dorm change.” She flipped the paper over. “As is this one. Turn them back into me in the next day or so, and you will get a reassignment within the next five days, faster if someone else is requesting a change as well.” She set that paper aside on top of the other one. “This one is to accuse your roommate of theft. The one after that is the same. Turn those into the campus police, even if you have your heirloom back. They’ll need to take it seriously.”

 

She slid all the papers over to Lance’s side of the desk. “Got it all?” Lance nodded. “Do you want to sit outside and fill them out?” Lance nodded again. She slid a pen across the table. “Here you go.”

 

* * *

 

**You cna come stay with tus,** Esperanza had sent. Keith looked over his shoulder and read the text. He made grabby hands for his phone, and Lance passed it over. Keith brought it up close to his face and squinted at the brightness of the screen. It turned darker with inactivity, and Lance took it back and started texting back a response. 

 

**I’ll be oveert in a mihtuithlew.** Lance had to send it before Keith rubbed his fingers over the keyboard more. Lance stretch his arm far out, away from Keith, and he corrected himself— **a few hours.**

 

He stuck his phone in his pocket and ignored the way Keith traced it with his eyes, down to the most vulnerable parts of himself. The paperwork was more important. Most of the questions— _ all _ of the questions were mundane. But Keith watched over his shoulder, utterly entranced, and Lance found his interest infectious. 

 

But still, it was paperwork. Lance finished it as quickly as he could and turned them all in. He figured there was no need to check in with the office lady, and so he left, Keith trailing along behind him. 

 

The drive to Lance’s mom’s place was long—maybe an hour. Keith switched from radio station to radio station, fascinated with the synth pop he found. The Chainsmokers, Ariana Grande, Alessia Cara, only to pass the time along the coast. 

 

They rolled up to Esperanza’s house in Ventura. She met them outside, and Keith hung back as Lance and his mother held each other. 

 

“Ay, mijo,” she said, noticing Keith. “You didn’t tell me you were bringing a friend!”

 

Lance met Keith’s gaze, awkward and insecure. He tried to communicate with his eyes that it’d be okay, that it might seem confusing at first but Lance’s family was honest and kind. 

 

Keith rubbed the back of his neck, and subconsciously, Lance did the same. Esperanza brought them inside, where Tico and Aaron were playing video games—Overwatch, maybe—from the living room, and Lisa was holed up in the kitchen peeling an orange. Esperanza led them through the mess of kids up to her study. They stopped outside of the door, and Lance brought Keith to stand right beside him. 

 

“This is my friend Keith,” Lance said by way of introduction. He snuck a quick glance—in the lazy afternoon light, Keith almost glowed. 

 

“He’s from nineteen eighty three,” Lance said, and Esperanza’s smile dropped slowly from her face as she tried to understand. 

 

“No, no no no,” she said. “No, you can’t be here—this is your future. How did you—”

 

“I brought him,” Lance said. “El Mono Rey brought him.” He squeezed Keith’s shoulder, and they rebalanced on the balls of their feet. “He belongs here as much as I do.”

 

Esperanza bit her lip and considered. “Are you sure he’ll be okay here?”

 

Lance nodded, to reassure everyone in the room. “He’ll be fine.” 

 

* * *

 

Lance finished his semester with what he hoped was a bang. His teachers recommended him to advanced science courses, and his English teacher suggested he come back next semester “with your little friend, you two were such a joy to have in class, it’s so rare science majors take a Shakespeare course—” Lance respectfully declined. 

 

He planned to spend the next two weeks chilling at his house with Keith and Hunk, who was going to Ventura City College. They’d probably play video games all day long, and Lance was okay with that. 

 

Until Keith came up to him, brandishing a sheet of paper. He’d spent the past couple weeks under the careful eye of Esperanza Torrez, who made absolute certainty that Keith wasn’t going anywhere. 

 

“I asked your mom if she had a phone book,” Keith explained. “There’s someone that I used to know, this little squirt named Kashi—he’s in LA, I think. I want to go see him. He hasn’t seen me for thirty years and I left without explanation. I miss him.”

 

Lance hadn’t even put his car keys down yet, but he sighed and asked Keith to gather some food. They’d do this, even if it had to be right now, which it did. 

 

This time on the ride, Lance plugged in his phone and let Keith choose the music. He thought that broke Keith. He just sat there and marveled at the interface of the screen. 

 

Lance took back his phone and, with one hand, picked a song at random. Synth pop and melodic humming came out of the speakers, and Keith put his hand over the one on his door. 

 

“So tell me about your friend,” Lance said to break the silence. “Kashi, right? Interesting name.”

 

Keith ran his hand over the speaker once and straightened. “Yeah. He was only a kid when I left. I volunteered at his school library sometimes, and his family would invite me over to dinner all the time cause I helped him with homework. Bright kid. Really looked up to me.”

 

Lance ‘huh’ed, and they drove. 

 

Los Angeles wasn’t very far away, maybe an hour. Technically, this Kashi lived in Inglewood, but the whole “Los Angeles” city was big enough that it didn’t make a difference. 

 

“Right on Walnut Street,” Keith murmured. “I’ll point out the house.”

 

Kashi lived in a two-story house with a screen door on the side. The fence separated the house from the rest of the street, protecting a brightly colored tricycle. Lance had to go a little out of his way to park. 

 

Keith stood in front of the door, waging a silent war with himself. Lance waited it out, wishing he could open a window to Keith’s mind. The civil war inside must have been horrendous. 

 

Keith leaned over and pressed the doorbell for a long moment. The faint sound of melodic piano rang inside the house, and soft footsteps came closer, most likely clad in socks. Even softer footsteps, but those more rapid, came as well. 

 

An absolute goddess opened the door, with gleaming skin and long, pale hair. She held a small child in her arms, and when Lance checked, her socks were purple with small elephants printed on them. She kept the screen door closed between them. Lance didn’t take it personally. 

 

When Keith said nothing and Lance followed his lead, she asked, “Can I help you?” in a vague British accent. The kid stared into Lance’s soul with these big eyes, and Lance brought his fingers up to wiggle at him. The kid didn’t smile back. 

 

“Yes ma’am, um, is Takashi home?” Keith asked. “I’m an old friend of his.”

 

The woman gave Keith a rather suspicious gaze and bounced her kid on her hip. “An old friend, huh? What are you, fifteen?”

 

Keith’s lips folded in on themselves. “Nineteen, ma’am. Yes, ma’am, an old friend. Is he home?” Lance thought he could hear the slightest touch of a southern accent in the way Keith pulled the ‘a’ in ‘ma’am’.

 

The woman glanced back into her house, and Keith followed her gaze like a dog following a thrown ball. Lance locked eyes with the kid again—uncanny valley right there, with the way his eyes were  _ just _ dark enough. 

 

The woman’s earrings caught the light as she swung her head back around. They were purple, and seemed to float before Lance figured the thread that held the gem to the silver studs was just clear. 

 

“He’s coming,” she said, and sure enough Lance heard heavier, solid footsteps rounding the corner. It sounded like socks as well. The trees above Lance’s head shifted the slightest bit, letting the light hit Lance’s eye, blinding him for the slightest moment. 

 

Keith’s fists tightened at his side, and he puffed his chest up. The man was half hidden in the shade of the house, but Lance could make out the gleam of a metal prosthetic arm and the faint glow of bone white hair. As he came closer, the light played off of the man’s scars, riddling his arms and slashed across his face. What kind of war does this to a person?

 

The man spoke, a simple “Hello?” and the tension left of Keith’s frame and fists. 

 

All Keith said was a simple, querulous “Kashi?” in return. Then a beat, and in a rush, he said, “Keith asked me to come here. He says he misses you a lot, and he wishes he didn’t have to leave in such a rush, and—well.”

 

The man blinked. “Keith? Wait.”

 

Lance bit the inside of his cheek. All of a sudden, he  _ wanted _ this Takashi or Kashi or whoever to remember Keith. It was obvious he didn’t—the way he looked at the woman, and the way she looked back with only more questions. 

 

Keith shifted his weight. “You—you don’t remember?”

 

Takashi sucked in a thin, apologetic breath and shook his head. “I’m sorry. Um, if you see him, tell him to bring a picture of himself? If I can have your phone number, maybe you could text me?”

 

Keith shoved his hands into his pockets. “Oh, no, sorry, he uh, he died, so…”

 

Seriously?  _ That’s _ what you’re going for?  _ That’s  _ your excuse? Lance refrained from making a comment. 

 

The woman held her child closer. The kid finally dropped his gaze from Lance to look up at his mom. He brought a hand up to grab at her hair, and she gently bobbed him up and down. 

 

“Gosh, I’m so sorry,” Takashi said, and it sounded genuine. “Did you—was there a funeral? Are you family of his?”

 

“Yeah,” Keith said, searching for time. He drew out the vowel for a long moment. “Yeah, there was a funeral. Um. Couple weeks ago. Lived a long life, you know? Good time for him to die.”

 

“How old was he?”

 

Keith counted silently in his head. Lance watched his lips mumble silently through numbers. “Fifty three?”

 

Takashi nodded. His eyes crinkled into sympathy. “I’m sorry. I wish he could have seen me.”

 

Keith sighed. “I think he’d be happy with the man you’ve become.”

* * *

 

 

The ride back was pretty silent. Keith curled up in his seat and watched the sea outside go by, the sun glinting off looking like diamonds. Lance didn’t start a conversation. He understood the value of wanting to be alone for a while with one’s own thoughts. 

 

They were turning off of the highway when Keith muttered, “I can’t believe he didn’t remember me.”

 

Lance glanced over. The smallness of Keith seemed almost painful. 

 

“I’m sorry,” Lance said. “He meant a lot to you?”

 

Keith propped his chin up on his hand and resolutely stared out of the window. “Yeah.”

 

Silence reigned. 

 

“I’m technically fifty three years old,” Keith said. “Should I stay here? There’s no way for me to be a, you know, a legal citizen. On the other hand, people must think I’m dead, or they hate me.”

 

“They wouldn’t  _ hate _ you.” Lance scoffed. “You’re a cool guy! Didn’t you care about the people you used to know? And you sought out Takashi with no other prompting.”

 

Keith squeezed his eyes shut. “I can’t stand the thought of those scars,” he whispered, his voice tight and thin. “Where did he go? How did he get them? What kind of utter war…”

 

Keith rubbed at one eye and refused to look at Lance, instead finding the diamonds glittering on the sea a better companion. 

 

* * *

 

“Mijo, your friend called,” Esperanza said right as Lance walked through the door. “Hualani? He says he wants you to come over and play video games.”

 

Lance slipped off his shoes, and Keith did the same. “Did he say  _ which  _ video games?”

 

“Skyrim?”

 

“I’ll be at Hunk’s house for the rest of the afternoon, Mom, bye.”

 

“Bye, mijo.”

 

Keith stood in the entryway, a silent witness to this loud exchange. “Who’s Hualani?”

 

Lance untied his shoelaces and sat down on the cool tile. “Call him Hunk. Friend of mine—we go  _ way _ back.”

 

Keith sat down next to Lance and started picking at his laces. “Can I go with you?”

 

“Wouldn’t have it any other way, man.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Hunk, my man, my main man, how’s it going,” Lance said. He always greeted Hunk like this, ever since sixth grade when he was trying to reinvent himself. “This is Keith.”

 

Hunk smiled. “How’s it going, Keith. New friend?” The last question was directed at Lance, even as Hunk held out a hand to shake Keith’s.

 

“You could say that,” Lance said. He made a face, like,  _ I’ll tell you later. _

 

Hunk welcomed them in. He had a younger sister in high school, and Lance could hear the faint sound of heavy metal and screamo singers echoing from upstairs. Keith looked for the source of the sound, his head tilted up, spinning around like a loon. Lance gently guided him to the living room, where Hunk’s XBox was set up and ready to go. 

 

“Oh cool, you got a Dragonborn?” As Lance slipped into the easy video game chatspeak with Hunk, Keith slipped off into the kitchen, probably to explore or scrounge for food. Lance paid him little mind—just enough mind that he followed Keith around with his eyes through the open arch leading into the kitchen. 

 

Hunk’s house was built in the same style as Lance’s. Red tile roof and smooth tile floors, with open-air brick and soaring ceilings.  _ Mi casa es tu casa. _ Or something like that. Spanish style or Tuscan style—Lance had forgotten over the years. They were just houses. 

 

The faint sound of a “Hunk, did you make these brownies?” filtered over into the living room, stuttering Lance’s conversation to a halt. Hunk replied with a “Ha ha, yeah!”

 

There was silence from the kitchen, and then an even quieter, “Can I have a piece?”

 

“Go for it, man.” Hunk smiled. He said to Lance, “Your friend is pretty cute. Where’d you find him?”

 

“Where’d I  _ find _ him?” Lance snorted. “Hanging around campus. I thought I’d go say hi, how you doing, what’s up, and thus.” The lies came easy.

 

“College life good then? Still a relatively cool person?” Hunk smirked. “Yeah, Rosa texted me all about your little stalker letter. Did that get cleared up?”

 

Lance smiled and tilted his head to the side. “Let’s play Skyrim.”

 

* * *

 

Lance’s new roommate was nice enough. They didn’t interact beyond what they had to. They said nothing about El Mono Rey. 

 

Pidge and Lance had a lab class together. Organic chemistry—not the most exciting, but Pidge was Lance’s partner, and they did most of the work. 

 

And so ended the second semester of Lance’s sophomore year. 

 

Summer passed as well; in Santa Barbara, and in Ventura and Los Angeles and Hollywood. Lance visited his cousins up north in Sacramento and Napa Valley, and he went south to San Diego. And everywhere he went, Keith came too, loyal but quiet. 

 

While in San Diego, visiting family, Lance took his car and drove over the border to Mexico. The fence that was there already wasn’t very awe-inspiring; Lance could see cars whizzing on the opposite side of the highway. It looked more like a schoolyard fence than some almighty divide between two countries. 

 

He didn’t bring Keith with him. They’d need papers to cross back over, and Keith didn’t have any. They would have to fix that eventually. He did take Keith to the zoo, and Seaworld. 

 

Every August, Lance’s entire family flew to upstate New York to visit Lance’s grandparents, who lived in Ellenville. From there, the venue site for Woodstock—White Lake, New York—was only a thirty-eight minute drive (according to Google Maps. It always felt shorter to Lance). 

 

The sides of the road were littered with trees not even turning colors yet, just green as far as the eye could see. Lance supposed it was beautiful. 

 

They arrived. They wouldn’t stay long, just abandon the car in some parking lot for three days and come back after everything to find it spic-and-span. That technique had lasted Lance every other time he came up here. The people of White Lake weren’t crooks. 

 

Woodstock was held in some field, a little walk away from the town. Lance and Keith stood in the middle of tall grass and held their respective statues in their hands, close to their mouths. Lance glanced up at Keith in this intimate moment, the heat of summer upon them, the soft breaths escaping their mouths. 

 

Keith’s lips curled into a smile, and he counted down until—

 

“Nineteen sixty-nine,” they crowed triumphantly together, and all of a sudden they were surrounded by a screaming crowd, the sound wobble of a guitar just fading from the air. 

 

The universe had thought to provide—Lance wore bell bottoms (he would  _ never _ in any other year) and a loose tie-dye, and Keith wore shorts with his hair just the slightest bit longer and held back with a thin leather band. 

 

“Groovy, dude,” Lance shouted over the newest guitar riff. “You wanna find a place to sit down?”

 

Lance thought he heard Keith shout “Sure!” in response, but he wasn’t certain until Keith took his hand and started leading him away from the stage, to the place where buses were lined up and painted bright colors. 

 

There were a few people sitting on the ground there, passing around a blunt. They waved as Keith and Lance walked by, slurring their words, saying, “Beautiful people! Beautiful people everywhere. Digging your look! Want a joint?”

 

Keith smiled at them but said nothing. Lance was surprised he could hear them over the crowd, and he caught one more phrase as they left—”Ahh, they’re bookin’ it. Ahh, flower power. Flower power? Flower child.”

 

Keith stopped near a tie-dye shirt stand. “Here’s good.”

 

Lance looked around. “What’s so important about right here?”

 

Keith shrugged. “Less people, but we can still hear the music.” And he was right. 

 

They stood there until the song ended, just chilling. People moved around them and sometimes between them, offering small words or phrases of general enjoyment. “Hang loose.” “Outta  _ sight, _ you beautiful people.” “ _ Baaad _ threads, dudes.”

 

Half the words looked like insults on paper, but the way people said it all sounded nice. It was obvious they were complimenting Lance. It was nice. 

 

“Twitchin’.” 

 

Keith leaned in and whispered, “That guy’s totally stoned.” And then louder, “Hey, do you know who’s playing?”

 

The stoner looked back at Keith, then walked over. “What’d you say, dude? I couldn’t hear you.”

 

“Who’s playing?”

 

The stoner smiled and threw his arms wide, narrowly missing a passers-by. “Oh, yeah, man! Sweetwater!” He walked away, yelling “Why, oh, why!” at the top of his lungs in tandem with the band on stage.

 

Keith turned to smile at Lance. “The people are nice here.”

 

“Yeah, man, free love,” someone said. 

 

* * *

 

Lance found them a group to crash with the first night. They had a guitar, and Lance commandeered it, playing a few simple chords and humming along. Keith leaned over and whispered if he knew how to play “Every Breath You Take” by The Police. 

 

Lance did, and Keith softly sang along, subsequently blowing the minds of everyone else in the group. 

 

“Neato,” one of the women said. She had lanky blonde hair tied back with a leather strand like Keith’s. “What’s that from?”

 

Keith flushed slightly. “I don’t think you’d have heard it.”

 

The woman laughed, leading the other few people in their tent to laugh as well. “Ahh, alright. I’ll see if I hear it later, then.”

 

“Much later,” Lance muttered, not loud enough for anyone to hear. “Anyway, here’s Wonderwall.” He began to strum some chords, which were not in fact Wonderwall, but rather some random notes he played as everyone else talked freely. 

 

“Free love, dude,” one guy said. “Stick it to the Man. You know about ‘Nam? We need to get out of there.”

 

“Yeah, man,” another person said. “I feel you.”

 

Lance let their conversation about a war already lost wash over him. The guitar strings ran over well-worn calluses and tiny scars, the result of years of guitar playing. Lance had skipped out on the practice since he moved to college, but he still remembered a few songs. 

 

Keith leaned up against Lance’s side, heedless of whatever effect he was having on Lance’s guitar playing. Lance glanced over—Keith was very much in shadow, the sun having gone down and the fire not quite reaching their seat. The red that managed to hit Keith’s face cast him into perfect squares of light and dark. 

 

Lance hummed along to the song he was playing. They watched the others in their group drop off into sleep, one at a time, until Lance set his guitar down and went to sleep himself. 

 

* * *

 

John Sebastian was on the main stage, and Lance and Keith jumped along to his music in the pit. His music was fun—plucky guitar, simple lyrics, decent harmonica playing. The tune was catchy enough that Lance could shout “la la la” along with it.

 

There was a lull in the music, but Lance was hopped up on adrenaline enough to turn to Keith and grab his hands, still jumping and smiling ear to ear. “Isn’t this great? Aren’t you loving this?”

 

Keith’s wide-eyed look was infected with Lance’s enthusiasm, and he began jumping along. “Yeah! Yeah!”

 

The band started another song, and Lance turned back to the stage. He kept one hand clasped with Keith’s and screamed in excitement along with the rest of the crowd. 

 

Someone tapped Lance on the shoulder. He turned to them, a big smile still on his face. This was Woodstock. Nothing really bad happened at Woodstock, it was known all through history. 

 

Lance came face-to-face with himself, again, this time more recognizable. In the back, they sang, “Darling, be home soon.”

 

“Hello, Lance,” Lance said. “You’re having a nice time.”

 

“Yeah,” Lance said, breathless. “You’re me.”

 

“I am indeed you,” Lance said. “Keith is here too.” A future Keith stepped out from behind future Lance and raised a hand in greeting. Lance raised his own hand in return.

 

“What are you doing here?” Lance asked. “You know we aren’t really supposed to talk to each other.” Which wasn’t necessarily true.  Lance didn’t know what to think, only that it could change the force of history. 

 

The other Lance smiled and quirked his head to the side for a split second. “Can we talk? In private?”

 

Lance glanced at his Keith, and then the future Keith—the future they would become. They looked happy together. “Uh, okay. Keith, I’ll be right back.”

 

Keith regarded his future self, as his future self regarded him. He nodded in the direction of Lance, but kept his eyes on himself.

 

Future Lance led current Lance away from the main stage, through the crowd, the bass thrumming through their feet and through the earth. Or maybe it was the jumping of thousands of pairs of feet. Lance couldn’t tell the difference, not really. 

 

Future Lance stopped in front of some tent. There was a couple lying inside, just talking. Neither Lance payed them much attention, only to make sure they weren’t paying attention to them. 

 

“So,” Future Lance said. “You’re home free, dude. I can’t tell you much, but I can give you some much-needed advice.”

 

“But—”

 

“Look, man, this will happen with or without my intervention. I’m just giving you a kick in the butt.” Future Lance snapped his fingers and pretended to shoot at himself. 

 

“Then what are you waiting for?” Lance brushed off the finger guns. 

 

Future Lance looked over in the direction of the main stage—no. In the direction of Keith. He sighed, but a sigh of an intense, beautiful feeling. 

 

“Go for it,” Future Lance said. “He’s right there in your life. Sometimes you need to take that jump, right? You know what I mean? A leap of faith. And trust that what you’re feeling will catch you.”

 

“What I’m feeling.” 

 

“Yeah. I remember. The tightness in your throat, the clenching in your stomach—I know. Listen, Lance. That’s  _ love. _

 

“You’ve known for a long time.” Indeed. “Since he disappeared, and you realized you need him in your life. That panic, I think, was the first time I realized.”

 

Lance sighed and looked at the worn dirt underneath their feet. “Yeah. Yeah, I know I like him. He’s… stunning. But what am I supposed to  _ do  _ about it?” 

 

Future Lance smiled softly at Lance. His future was already so experienced, so enlightened… and he was going to be that. He was lucky enough to be that person, that incredibly happy and bright person.

 

“Well, I would ask him if he wanted to consider everything we’ve done a ‘date’. Here’s a hint: he’s going to say yes.”

 

* * *

 

Later, Lance and Keith—present version—sat around another campfire. The Grateful Dead were playing Cream Puff War on the main stage. The guitar blasted over the still-going audience, but Lance and Keith huddled around a campfire on the very outskirts of the main area, so the music was quieter than their voices. 

 

“You doing alright?” Lance asked. He had to lean in close, and his lips came just so close to brushing over Keith’s ear. They had wrapped a blanket around themselves a while ago, in face of the evening chill.

 

“Yeah,” Keith mumbled. “What did you tell yourself?”

 

“Mostly asked him what he was doing here, what’s going on, how did he find us, stuff like that.”

 

Keith rolled his eyes. “No, I mean, what did  _ he _ tell  _ you?” _

 

Lance shifted closer and wrapped his blanket around them tighter. “Nothing much. Nothing important. Some advice.”

 

The crowd screamed, overwhelming every other sound for exactly one moment. Guitar shredding cut the noise for one second more, then a burst of feedback pierced through Lance’s ears. He clamped his hands over his ears, trying to block out the feedback and the groans of the crowd. 

 

The speakers had overloaded on the main stage. Lance knew it was going to happen—he’d been here before, and besides, it was on the Wikipedia page for Woodstock. 

 

The feedback faded, and Lance could hear people ask other people what had happened. Lance took his hands off of his ears and fixed the blanket around himself and Keith again. 

 

They’d have some time before the next performance. Lance brought Keith along to find some food, and they stole a couple sodas out of a sleeping couple’s coolers, giggling so much they were afraid to wake the couple. 

 

People were falling asleep left and right. Almost everyone was caked in mud, and the moon high above illuminated their twisted bodies. It was a massacre without the dead. Lance held Keith’s hand and lead the way over to the far end of the audience area. They downed their sodas, room temperature, and waited for the next act. 

 

Lance looked at Keith. He’d seen that face more times than he can count, in all different angles and lighting and moods. In the moonlight, his eyes sparkled. Lance’s eyes slipped closed for a slight moment, and his head tilted towards Keith’s shoulder. He almost didn’t let it touch, almost stopped himself. Only almost, though. 

 

Keith started humming some psychedelic song they’d heard earlier in the afternoon, and they swayed slowly, with a backdrop of dead microphones and sleeping bodies. 

 

Lance straightened up and took a long, considering look at Keith. They held hands loosely, more for support than anything else. Keith looked at Lance in return, his eyes shadowed from the moon. 

 

“Do you think these are dates?”

 

Keith blinked, and looked at the ground. He didn’t move his hands, and Lance took that as a good sign. He drew closer. 

 

“You mean romantic ones?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“People are okay with that?” Keith asked. “Two guys?”

 

“Yeah,” Lance said. “And everyone who doesn’t like it can rot in hell.”

 

Keith’s eyes slipped close, and he leaned close to lay his head on Lance’s shoulder. It was silent; the only sound was the howling wind. 

 

“Yeah,” Keith said into Lance’s shoulder. “Of course they are.”

 

Lance smiled into Keith’s hair. He placed one of his hands on Keith’s hip and felt Keith do the same, and they danced to a song only they could hear. El Mono Rey and Wolf King swayed with them, clinking softly together. 

 

“Will you be my boyfriend?” Keith whispered. 

 

“I’ll always be your boyfriend,” Lance said. “As long as you’ll allow it.”

 

On the stage, there was a burst of noise. It sounded like conversation, but Lance and Keith broke away abruptly. They did not let go of each other’s hands. 

 

Creedence Clearwater Revival, frontman John Fogerty, walked onstage, only to a dead audience. They paused in confusion. 

 

Lance picked up a lighter lying nearby and flicked it on. He shouted, “Don’t worry about it, John. We’re with you.” He waved the lighter back and forth a couple times slowly, like he would wave his phone light back and forth in a concert in 2017. 

 

They started playing, rinky-dink guitar and scratchy vocals. Lance and Keith danced along to the music, wild jumping and swaying. They never let go of each other, not even once. 

 

* * *

 

Woodstock ended eventually, and Lance drove them back down to his grandparent’s house. They took turns taking a shower to wash of the grime in Lance’s grandmother’s old shower, the one he could never understand how the controls worked. 

 

Esperanza gave them both ham sandwiches and asked, “How’d it go?”

 

Keith glanced over at Lance at the exact right time for Lance to catch him in the act. They both smiled and didn’t quite break eye contact. 

 

“It was really nice, Mom,” Lance said. “Good music. Good people.”

 

Esperanza smiled and put mustard on the table. “Alright. You boys enjoy your sandwiches. I’ll be with your grandfather.” She gave Lance a wet kiss on the forehead, and he made a face and tried to wipe it off. 

 

Keith laughed softly. “If I know that’s how you react to forehead kisses, then I shouldn’t even try,” he said. 

 

Lance felt his face heat up. “Well, I’m sure you’ll do it differently,” he blustered.

 

Keith smiled coyly and reached for Lance’s hand. “How so?”

 

Lance smirked back. “Less wet.”

 

Keith smiled stupidly and put his head on the edge of Lance’s shoulder. “You’re so silly.”

 

“Ah, you love me.”

 

“I do.”

 

* * *

 

They shared a bed. The ceiling was blue from the streetlight outside shining through the window blinds. 

 

The future stared Lance in the face, bright and unknown. Thoughts about junior year of college swarmed around his head, and life after college, and life with Keith. Keith had already made plans to stay with Lance’s mom during the school year until he got his papers and a job. 

 

Keith was sleeping when Lance checked. He shouldn’t disturb him, but since when had Lance  _ really _ done what he was told?

 

“Keith,” he hissed. 

 

“Keith, wake up.” This time he accompanied it with a shake, and Keith groaned. 

 

Lance took in a breath, then held it in his lungs. Keith turned to look at Lance, a large t-shirt hanging over his shoulders. 

 

“Mm,” Keith said. 

 

“You don’t ever think about going back?”

 

“What do I have to go back to?” Keith slurred. “Everything I love is here.”

 

He smiled in satisfaction and snuggled back into his pillow. “Go back to bed. We’re flying back tomorrow.”

 

* * *

 

“All I love is here,” Keith reaffirmed. “I wouldn’t trade it for the world.”

 

“You  _ are _ my world,” Lance said. “My sunrise and my sunset. My moonlight and my sunlight. My life, my love.”

 

* * *

 

End

 

 


	2. EPILOGUE

When he was eighty-three, Lance told himself, “El Mono Rey loves you more than he loves anything else.”

 

His past self looked confused. Lance almost missed himself back then, with his clear skin (well-taken-care-of skin, more like) and itsy-bitsy problems. But Lance had lived a full life since then, and he was ready to let go. 

 

His husband met him at their front door. He clucked his tongue. “I told you that was a bad idea. Now look at you.”

 

“Look at me indeed,” Lance said. “Better than ever, darling.” He danced the way he used to, with his hips moving back and forth. It didn’t quite work with how fat he’d gotten (ugh), but he got his husband to smile. 

 

“The pinnacle of youth,” Keith said dryly. “Get in here.”

 

Lance smiled in return. His journey up the stairs was arduous, but in the end, he was rewarded with a kiss. 

 

“My love,” Keith whispered softly. “How lucky I am to have grown old with you.”

 

Lance smiled into his husband’s intimacy. “I am certain you are over one hundred years old. How lucky am  _ I _ that I can see your wrinkled old face.”

 

“You love my face,” Keith said. He laughed and drew Lance into their home. 

 

“I do,” Lance said. He slipped off his shoes and made his way to the kitchen, where there would be oranges. 

 

“You gave away your monkey,” Keith said as he followed Lance. “There’s only one left, right? Where’d it disappear to, then?”

 

Lance was already picking up the comm unit to call his nephew, strong young man he was. “It’s in the backyard. We buried it way back when.”

 

“Old man brain can’t remember. Because having two monkeys in use was dangerous?”

 

“Yeah.” The comms connected. “Al? It’s your tio. Come over here, I need you to unbury something for me.”

 

* * *

 

It only took one young man and two old codgers to dig up the oak wood box. Lance had inherited his mother’s house, God rest her soul. He had buried his monkey in the roots of the acacia. 

 

Al was sent away to make lemonade. In the shade of the patio, Lance and Keith sat in their respective chairs, rocking slowly back and forth as the wind creaked through the trees and the birds screamed about love. 

 

Keith leaned over and brushed off some dirt. Lance took the opportunity to brush his own kiss across Keith’s hand like he did fifty years ago, on his proposal night. Keith had flushed hard when Lance dropped to one knee. He flushed more slightly now, due to age and a love long lived with less and less embarrassment. 

 

Inside the box, El Mono Rey rested on a bed of newspapers and scraps of soft fabric. His life as a college student had been hard, and he had wanted to deal with El Mono Rey himself, which led to reused high school assignments and old clothes that didn't fit anyone anymore. 

 

The statue’s eyes still sparkled and reflected back Lance at himself. He could feel the soul-searching he did and would always do, and Lance loved him for it. 

 

Keith reached over and held Lance’s hand. On the table next to him, Wolf King stood proud as ever, worn smooth in some places and rough in others, just like El Mono Rey. Keith held up his wolf in a silent invitation. 

 

When Al came back with the lemonade, Keith and Lance were gone, exploring the forest of eternity, when no one could judge them, and they could live with love forever. 

  
  
  
  


End

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Here's [Lou's art,](http://hijackedbylou.tumblr.com/post/167081522561/this-is-my-contribution-to-this-years)  
> and  
> [here is Jay's!!](https://www.instagram.com/p/BbCC2jxFs7d/?taken-by=jaybird.draw)
> 
> I tried to write a couple connected stories to this fic, though they never did get really finished. If you want to see more regarding this AU, please let me know! I'd love some motivation to finish those things up, ha ha.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please leave kudos or a comment if you liked the story!
> 
> This fic was written for the [Klance Big Bang](https://klancebb2017.tumblr.com/)  
> And because of that, I have two amazing, incredible artists! Big shout-outs to [Lou](http://hijackedbylou.tumblr.com/) and [Jay](https://www.instagram.com/jaybird.draw/)!!
> 
> If you have any questions, feel free to ask! There are specific rules for how El Mono Rey and Wolf King work that I hope make sense.


End file.
